


The Fine Art of Making It Out Alive

by hell0lust



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Gen, Moving On, Past Drug Addiction, Recovery, implied chibs telford/juice ortiz
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-01-05 20:58:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12197295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hell0lust/pseuds/hell0lust
Summary: Some days Juice hated Tully. Hated him for failing to keep his promise, for purposely missing the fatal artery when he’d stabbed him in the neck. “Someday you’ll thank me for this,” he’d whispered into Juice’s ear, holding his limp body in his arms until the guards came to collect him, drag him to the infirmary.





	1. Chapter 1

Some days Juice hated Tully. Hated him for failing to keep his promise, for purposely missing the fatal artery when he’d stabbed him in the neck. “Someday you’ll thank me for this,” he’d whispered into Juice’s ear, holding his limp body in his arms until the guards came to collect him, drag him to the infirmary. Other days, he was grateful Tully had spared him, wanted to fall to his knees and weep tears of joy that he’d been given another chance, an opportunity to live. Those days hadn’t begun to occur until long after he’d been released from prison, with thousands of miles between him and his former brothers.  
  
It had been Wendy, bless that woman’s heart, who had encouraged him to go East, put as much distance between him and his old life as possible. During those early days, when he’d first been released, when he was still not fully aware that he was safe, was free, he’d depended on her to guide him, to help him carry on. She’d written him while he was finishing his sentence, coming up to visit periodically, to see how he was doing. She’d been waiting at the prison gate when he was released, pulling him into her arms, kissing the top of his head. “You made it, kid,” she told him, squeezing him tightly.  
  
She’d done so much to help him, more than he could ever have asked of anyone.  
  
She’d come to stay with him during the first few weeks on the East Coast, had looked after him as he went through withdrawal from the drugs he’d become dependent on during his time in prison. She understood, offered her solemn solidarity as he struggled with the early stages of sobriety. She’d dragged him to his first NA meeting, squeezing his hand as he sat rigid in a chair beside her, listening as other addicts shared their stories. Though he’d never admit it, he didn’t care for NA, didn’t fully buy into it’s ideology, he appreciated her help, understood that she was trying to help him build a foundation, something to lean on as he started a new chapter in his life.  
  
The first year had been horrible. He’d spent most of his time locked in his apartment, terrified to go outside, haunted by the ghosts of his past. He left his apartment for little more than gathering supplies at the store and to attend his weekly NA meeting. He’d promised Wendy that he’d continue to go, figuring he owed her at least that much. He didn’t have much left, but he still had his word.  
  
It had been one of the men in his weekly meeting, a young veteran named Ben, who’d told him about PTSD. Until then he hadn’t had a name for the panic that haunted him, for the vivid flashbacks of his worst experiences with the club and in prison. It had taken him months, but eventually he’d followed through and made an appointment to see the therapist that Ben had referred him to.  
  
It had taken time, but eventually, Juice had settled into a routine that he was comfortable with. He would never be the man he’d been before prison, before the Sons of Anarchy, but that was okay. He was alive. He was surviving. And that was enough.  
  
With Wendy’s encouragement, he’d gone back to school, finishing his degree in computer engineering. He’d never be able to get a great gig in the field, given his criminal record, but he did freelance work which suited him just fine.  
  
He’d thought about getting his MC tattoos covered up, but had decided against it. Despite everything, the club had been his home. He loved his brothers, and while they’d turned their backs on him, he couldn’t help but feel a nagging sense of loyalty to the club, to them. He didn’t want to lose the one reminder he had of his old life. 

* * *

Never, in a million years, had Juice expected to see Happy Lowman, perched on his bike, in Brooklyn. Juice slipped on his sunglasses, keeping his head down as he passed his former brother, hoping he would not catch his attention. He breathed a sigh of relief as he heard the familiar rumble of motorcycles. He was meeting with the Sons New York charter. He wasn’t here for him, to finish the job. He settled into a nearby coffee shop to work on the code he was writing for one of his Brooklyn clients. He took sips from his coffee, brow furrowed in concentration as he wrote out lines of code. It took him several minutes to realize someone was hovering over him. He froze, shoulders tensed as he glanced up at the man standing behind him. _Fuck_. He wished had had his gun on him. “C-can I help you?” he asked, bracing himself for a fight. “Juice?” Happy asked, his voice raspy.  
  
“I go by JC, now,” he told him, closing his laptop.  
  
Happy grunted in response, taking a seat across from him at the table. “So what are you doing in New York?”  
  
“If you’re here to kill me, just get it over with,” he mumbled, lowering his head.  
  
He waited, holding his breath, for Happy to put his gun to his head, to pull a knife, something. When he didn’t, he looked up, eyeing the other man warily.  
  
“What do you want from me, man?”  
  
“Saw you on the street. I’d recognize those retarded tattoos anywhere,” he replied, nodding at Juice’s head. “Just wanted to see if it was actually you.”  
  
Juice nodded. “So you’re not here to kill me?”  
  
“Prez sent me out here to check in with the East Coast charters, see how they’re doing. SAMCRO is a different club than it was a few years back, Juicy.”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” Juice retorted, frowning.  
  
“When’d you get out of Stockton?” Happy asked, shrugging.  
  
“Three years ago. Came out here.”  
  
“Any particular reason?”  
  
“I’m from here… seemed to make sense. Put some distance between me and Jax…” he trailed off, tapping his foot anxiously. He glanced at his messenger bag, debating pulling out his anxiety medication. Deciding it was better than having a full blown panic attack in front of his former brother, he grabbed his bag, pulling the orange medicine vial out. “Excuse me,” he said, tapping a pill into his hand, chasing it down with a sip of his coffee.  
  
“Jax is dead.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Happy nodded. “Went out on his bike, just like his old man. Chibs is at the head of the table, now,” he elaborated.  
  
“I see,” Juice said quietly, beginning to gather up his things.  
  
“Going somewhere?” Happy asked.  
  
“I’ve got therapy,” he offered, shrugging. “I’m on a pretty strict schedule. Keeps me stable.”  
  
“You finally get your head straight, kid?”  
  
Juice shrugged. “Not all the way. But I’m better than I was.”  
  
“You know, Chibs half expected you to show up at the clubhouse once you got out.”  
  
“I thought you guys hated me, wanted me dead.”  
  
“We found out a lot of the shit Jax kept from the club… we never voted Mayhem on you, kid.”  
  
Juice nodded. “That’s… good to know, I guess”  
  
“Juice-”  
  
“I really need to get going… my appointment’s in Manhattan… and traffic this time of day,” he paused, shifting the weight of his bag to hang in a more comfortable position.

* * *

Juice slipped into the bathroom the moment he arrived at his therapist's office, dropping to his knees and voiding the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, acutely aware that he was shaking. He struggled to open his anxiety medication, taking two pills, hoping to quell the pounding of his heart rattling in his chest.  
  
His therapist, Dr. Knowles (and isn’t that ironic?) immediately recognized that Juice was in the midst of a panic attack, quickly sprung into action to talk him down.  
  
“Do you have any idea what may have brought this panic attack on, JC? You haven’t had an episode in almost two months,” Dr. Knowles asked, offering him her sunny, professional smile.  
  
“I ran into one of my brothers… from the club. Haven’t seen any of them since…” he trailed off, feeling his heart begin to race, once more.  
  
“Take a deep breath. Okay, exhale. You’re alright, JC. You’re in a safe place,” his therapist coached him, eyeing him with concern.  
  
“I didn’t think I’d ever see any of ‘em again. Thought I was dead to them,” he mumbled, burying his face in his hands, struggling to regulate his breathing.  
  
“He’s going to tell Filip he saw me,” he said finally, after several minutes of painful silence.  
  
“Filip?” Dr. Knowles asked.  
  
Juice nodded. “Yeah. You know… I told you about him… he was my…” he paused, frowning. “My best friend,” he said firmly, sighing heavily.  
  
Dr. Knowles frowned. “I thought you’d said he was more than a friend, JC,” she said gently.  
  
Juice frowned, cracked his knuckles. “Yeah…” he mumbled, looking down at his feet. “We never… _you know_ , but I kinda figured he knew how I felt…” he trailed off, began picking at his cuticles.  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with being bisexual, JC.”  
  
“I was trying to forget about him, doc,” Juice noted, shaking his head. “If I pretended that he was gone, I didn’t have to think about it. But Hap, he said his name, and it all came rushing back.”  
  
His therapist remained silent, waiting for him to continue.  
  
“It makes me feel sick. Not because… not because it’s him. Because the club would call me a faggot if they knew I felt that way about another man….” he paused, picking more at his cuticles, drawing blood.  
  
“JC,” his therapist interrupted, shooting him a pointed look. “You’re engaging in a behavior,” she reminded him, nodding at his bloody cuticles.  
  
“Shit,” he swore, accepting a Kleenex from the woman. He dabbed at his hands, slipping them under his thighs, to distract himself from continuing to pick.  
  
“What exactly makes you feel sick, thinking about Filip?” Dr. Knowles asked, nodding encouragingly.  
  
Juice sighed, stared down at his feet. “Prison. Having… thoughts about him, wanting to _do things_ with him… it brings back shit that happened while I was inside. When I was…” he trailed off, biting nervously at his lower lip.  
  
“You can say it, JC. Own your past.”  
  
“When I was raped. Thinking about wanting to be… desiring Filip, it makes me think about the rape. And it makes me feel sick,” he said lowly, voice barely above a whisper.  
  
“You said before that you haven’t experienced any sexual desire since you were released from prison. This is the first time you’ve had thoughts about intimacy since then?” she asked.  
  
Juice nodded. “Yeah,” he agreed, worrying at his lip, drawing blood.

* * *

Juice returned home from therapy, taking care to lock the door behind him. He knew he was being paranoid, that no one was coming for him, but still, the old practiced habit of locking both deadbolts was comforting to him. He tidied his apartment, scrubbing at non-existent dirt until his muscles ached from fatigue. Exhausted, he undressed, curling up in bed. He stared at his phone, biting at his lip as he reviewed the unread emails in his inbox. He froze at the sight of a familiar name. _Filip Telford_. “Shit,” he mumbled, finger hovering over the screen, considering his next course of action. He closed his eyes, dropping the phone onto the bed beside him. _Tomorrow_ , he told himself. _I’ll read what he has to say tomorrow._


	2. Chapter 2

After waking from a fitful sleep, Juice began his usual morning routine. He went for a run, making the most of the still relatively pleasant New York fall. Once it got colder, he would have to retreat to the gym for his morning runs. Though he enjoyed the gym, went five days a week to lift, he preferred to do his cardio outside, breathing in the fresh air. His therapist had recommended that he make the most of being outside during the fair weather, citing that sunlight and fresh air were helpful in managing his depression. He supposed she had a point; he’d always been happy in California, where it was always sunny and warm…. at least, he had been until he hadn’t. Until everything changed. Juice shook his head, banishing the thought from his head, picking up the pace as he continued to run. It was better to stop himself before he started to dwell on the bad times. Nothing good ever came from thinking about the last few years in Charming, or the years after spent in prison. He continued on, pumping up the volume of his iPod, blasting music to keep the thoughts at bay.   
  
He returned home, hopping in the shower, the water turned as hot as he could tolerate. He practiced his breathing exercises, scrubbing furiously at the grime, real and imagined, on his body. Once satisfied that he’d cleaned himself as well as possible, he made a pot of coffee, settling down with his laptop to plan his day and drink his first cup. He frowned, reviewing his calendar, surprised to find he was ahead of schedule on all of his current projects, leaving him with some free time to kill. Slowly, he sipped his coffee, an awful thought lingering in the back of his mind. Juice had been clean for three years. He hadn’t had an urge to get high in over a year. Yet, here he was, after all this time, wanting nothing more than the relief of a needle in his veins, the sweet numbness of heroin. _Just a little. Something to dial down the pressure._  
  
The old Juice would have succumbed to his desire. He would have been out in Harlem scoring dope within the hour, savoring the sweet release once he brought the needle to his skin. Thankfully, he told himself, he wasn’t that man, anymore. The new Juice had resources to utilize, a support network to reach out to if need be. He had coping mechanisms. He had built a new life for himself, a good one. This Juice had things to live for. Without hesitating, Juice scrolled through his contacts list, ringing his friend from NA, Ben.  
  
“Hey Ben… it’s JC,” he started, once the other man had answered the phone.  
  
“Hey JC. Everything alright? It’s pretty early, still,” Ben replied, stifling a yawn.  
  
“I feel like using,” Juice stated, sighing heavily.   
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“I’m home… I’m not going to. This… it’s the first time in a _long_ time I’ve even thought about using, had an urge to.”  
  
“I’ll be there in twenty. Hang tight, okay?”  
  
“Thanks, man.”  
  
Juice poured himself another cup of coffee, scrolled through his email. He found himself hovering over the unread email from Chibs, fingers trembling slightly. Juice took a deep breath. God, he wanted nothing more than to get high right now. Not even H, necessarily. A big fat joint would do the trick, anything to mellow him out. He shut his laptop, busied himself with tidying up his spotless kitchen while he waited for Ben to arrive.

* * *

True to his word, Ben arrived twenty minutes later. “Hey man, thanks for coming…I really appreciate it,” Juice told him, ushering him inside.  
  
The two settled into the kitchen, Juice pouring Ben a cup of coffee, before sitting down at the table. “So, any idea what brought this on?” Ben asked, taking a sip of coffee.  
  
Juice sighed. “I ran into an old friend yesterday,” he started, staring down into his own mug. “From back in Cali. Haven’t seen him in years.”  
  
“One of the guys from your motorcycle club?” Ben asked.  
  
Juice nodded. “Yeah… you know I um, didn’t leave on great terms with those guys before I got locked up…” he trailed off, sighing.  
  
“What happened? Did he threaten you or something?” Ben asked, concerned.  
  
“Nah, nah… nothing like that. He um… he was cool. Just… said that the club wasn’t out lookin’ for me or anything. It was just… weird,” Juice elaborated.   
  
Ben nodded, waiting for Juice to continue.  
  
“I guess he told the others that he saw me… I got an email from Filip,” he sighed, hands trembling slightly as he brought the mug of coffee to his lips.  
  
“Your ex?” Ben asked, eyebrow raised.  
  
“He’s not… not my ex,” Juice replied, cheeks flushed. “We screwed around some but there was never any kinda label on it or anythin’. We were just… I don’t know, man. The last time we spoke, it wasn’t too good, ya know? He said some… some fucked up shit to me.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“He said to me, ‘If I were you, I’d get that gun, put it in my mouth, and pull the trigger.’ Not exactly the greatest parting words, right?” Juice replied, hands shaking, coffee spilling onto the table.   
  
“Jesus Christ… why would he say that to you?” Ben asked, horrified.  
  
“I was involved in some sketchy stuff back then, man. Besides the fact that I was fucked up on pills twenty-four seven around that time. Better not to rehash old shit… you’re ex military, you know how some shit is classified? That’s what that shit is… it’s just something I can’t be tellin’ to outsiders.”  
  
“Understood,” Ben agreed, nodding. “So what did he say in the email?”  
  
“I didn’t read it.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Juice sighed, rubbing his face anxiously with his hands. “I can’t, man. Just the thought of it makes my skin crawl. I can’t read it. God… I would kill right now to get high. Anything to get me out of my head.”  
  
“You’re not going to throw away three years of sobriety, JC. You’re better than that. I’ve got you, okay?”  
  
Juice nodded. “Thanks, man.”  
  
“You should delete the email. Or send it to a folder that you won’t open,” Ben suggested.  
  
“Really? You don’t think I should just bite the bullet, see what he wants?”  
  
“You need to check yourself, man. You haven’t wanted to use in a long time. If receiving contact from this guy has you yearning for the needle, you need to ask yourself, is this the healthiest choice for me right now?” Ben retorted, offering Juice a reassuring smile.  
  
“You’re right. It’s not. I’m not ready to deal with that… not at the cost of my sobriety. Thanks, Ben.”  
  
Juice paused, frowning. “I _do_ want to talk to him, though, Ben. I mean… he was… he meant a lot to me. Still means a lot to me, you know? I’m just not… not ready to face old ghosts, I guess,” Juice continued, sighing.  
  
“So make a _Filip_ file. Drop any emails he sends you in there. Out of sight, out of mind. When you’re ready to talk to him, to rehash the past, it’ll be there waiting. He’ll understand if you need time.”  
  
“You really think so?”  
  
“From what you’ve said about him, I’d say so,” Ben affirmed.  
  
“Okay… I’ll do that, then,” Juice agreed, nodding.  
  
“You’ve got work to do today?” Ben asked.  
  
“Nah… I’m ahead of schedule. Realizing I had nothing but time to kill, on top of wanting to… _you know_ … that’s why I called you. Needed someone to hold me accountable.”  
  
“I’ve got group this evening, but other than that, my schedule is free. Why don’t you make me one of your famous green smoothies? We can make a day of it. Hit the gym, go to a meeting. You can come with me to my PTSD group if you don’t want to be left alone tonight,” Ben offered, grinning.   
  
“You’d really do that for me?” Juice asked, touched by the other man’s kind gesture.  
  
“You reached out, asked for help. This is what we do, man. We’re brothers in recovery. I’ve got your back.”  
  
“Thanks, brother,” Juice replied, smiling at the familiarity of the term.

* * *

“How was your trip out east, brother?” Chibs asked, looking to his Sergeant at Arms, Happy Lowman.  
  
“Good. Charters are adapting well to the changes we’ve put in place,” Happy affirmed.  
  
Happy remained silent as Chibs discussed other club matters, waiting for church to end so he could speak with the prez in private. He’d arrived back to Charming only hours before, and while he had called Chibs while he was in New York to let him know about who he’d stumbled upon, he had yet to have a chance to discuss the matter further with him.  
  
Once Chibs adjourned the meeting and their brothers began to file out of Chapel, Happy cleared his throat, catching Chibs’ eye. “Got a moment, brother?” he asked lowly.  
  
“Aye,” Chibs agreed, shutting the door once the last of the other sons had left Chapel, giving the two privacy to speak.  
  
“So, I s'pose ye want to discuss Juice,” Chibs said, settling back into his seat at the head of the table.  
  
“You said you were gonna reach out to him… any word back?” Happy asked, genuinely curious.  
  
“No,” Chibs sighed, shaking his head. “Sent him an email… no response from him.”  
  
Happy nodded. “Can’t say I’m surprised… seemed pretty jumpy. He thought I was there to kill him.”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Chibs swore, sighing heavily. “How’d he look? He doin’ alright ye think?”  
  
Happy nodded. “He looked good. Better than he looked the last couple years here, honestly. Put some weight back on, looked like he’s been sleeping.”  
  
“Thas’ good tae hear. How long has been out?” he asked, frowning.  
  
“Three years, he said. He went out east as soon as he got out of Stockton.”  
  
“So he’s living out there, then?” Chibs asked.  
  
Happy nodded. “Did a little research during some downtime. He lives in Queens. Does freelance shit with computers… he went back to school, got his degree in computer engineering or programming or some shit.”  
  
“Legit work?”  
  
“Yeah. He’s got his own website and everything. Goes by JC now. He’s still got the same stupid haircut, though,” Happy noted, smirking. “Saw him on the street and knew without hesitation that it was him.”  
  
Chibs smiled, shaking his head fondly. “I havetae say, I’m glad he survived… knowin’ what Jax had planned, what he kept from us… I was afraid we’d get a call from Stockton askin’ us to claim the body.”  
  
“From the looks of it, he barely made it out of there alive,” Happy noted, frowning.   
  
Chibs rose an eyebrow, shooting Happy a quizzical look. “Meanin’?”  
  
“He’s got a scar on his neck. Looked like an unsuccessful hit to me… missed his jugular by millimeters. Kid’s lucky to still be breathing.”  
  
“Shite,” Chibs swore, frowning. “Does he know we never sanctioned a hit? That we never voted Mayhem on him?”  
  
“I told him, prez,” Happy affirmed. “He didn’t know Jax was dead.”  
  
“He say anythin’ else? Anythin’ about the club?” Chibs pressed.  
  
Happy shook his head. “Nah. He got a little buggy. Was popping pills, then made a hasty exit out of there. Said he had therapy. Needed to get going.”  
  
“Therapy?” Chibs scoffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust.  
  
“He said it keeps him stable. That he’s in a better place than he was. From what I saw, I’m willing to believe it. He seemed more like the old Juice than the Juice we knew before all that shit went down,” Happy retorted, shrugging.   
  
Chibs nodded, eyes clouded with thought.  
  
“You still have his kutte?” Happy asked, curiously.  
  
“Aye. Ye know, I really did think he’d show up here once he got out…” Chibs trailed off, sighing.  
  
“You miss him, brother?”   
  
“Aye. Juicy was…” he paused, staring wistfully up at the ceiling, “he was somethin’ else, that one. Ne’r met someone quite like him.”  
  
Happy rose to his feet, striding towards Chibs. “Give him some time… I think I freaked him out, just following him into a coffee shop, sneaking up on him. It’s been years, Chibs. He’ll reply, eventually. You were always his favorite, the one he went to. I can’t see him just ignoring you after you reached out to him,” he told the older man, clapping his shoulder.   
  
“Perhaps,” Chibs said disbelievingly, staring down at the table.   
  
“I take you probably want to keep our knowing Juicy’s whereabouts between us, for now?” Happy asked.  
  
“Aye. No need to bring up old shite with the club until absolutely necessary,” Chibs affirmed.  
  
“You think he’d come back, given the chance?”  
  
Chibs smiled softly. “The old Juice, he’d come back in a heartbeat. This club was his family. To the bitter end, all he wanted was a way back in. Haven’t seen the lad in almost a decade. Hard tae say what he’d do, anymore.”


	3. Chapter 3

Juice stared at the folder in his email labeled _Chibs_ , contemplating opening one of the dozen emails he’d received over the past six months. Sighing, he clicked the _compose_ button, typing Chibs’ email address into the To box. His fingers glided effortlessly across the keyboard, barely registering the words he was typing. Once finished, he reviewed the email, gnawing anxiously at his lower lip.  
  
_Chibs,_  
  
_Sorry I haven’t responded to your emails. I think it’d be easier for me to just speak to you in person. I’m going to be in San Francisco for work for two weeks. There’s a Starbucks around the corner from the hotel I’m staying at. California St. I’ll be there at 1pm on Wednesday._  
  
_Juice_  
  
Before he could convince himself otherwise, he hit send, shutting his laptop and shoving it away from him. He took a deep breath, counting to ten. “Either he’ll show or he won’t,” he told himself, rapping his fingers anxiously on the table.

* * *

Juice arrived in San Francisco, overwhelmed by the familiar sights surrounding him. He gripped the handle of his suitcase tighter, taking deep breaths as he took in his surroundings. He’d flown out of San Francisco when he’d left Stockton for the East Coast, Wendy feeling it would be best to avoid the possibility of running into any potential threats flying out of Oakland. He’d never thought he’d return to California, would ever set foot in the Bay Area again. Once he felt grounded, he made his way to the exit, in search of the shuttle into the city. He’d thought about renting a car, but had decided against it. The cost of parking was insane in San Fran, and it wasn’t like he had any plans of leaving the city. Besides, he told himself, riding the Pacific Coast Highway in a cage was no match for his memories of riding the scenic route on his bike. He didn’t want to tarnish one of the few fond memories he had of his former home. 

* * *

Once he was checked in to his room and had settled in, unpacking his clothes and getting his toiletries and medications organized, he settled into an armchair sat near the huge window in the bedroom portion of his suite, offering a spectacular view of the Golden Gate and Bay Bridges. He removed his phone from his pocket, quickly scrolling through his messages. He had two hours before he needed to meet with his client, allowing him time to give Wendy a call, who’d insisted he check in with her as soon as he arrived on the West Coast. He quickly dialed her number, holding the phone to his ear as he waited for her to pick up.  
  
“Hey Wen,” he greeted her, smiling brightly as he heard the woman’s familiar voice on the line.  
  
“You made it to California in one piece?” she asked, her voice full of warmth.  
  
“Yeah… I’ve got some time until I need to meet with my client, figured I’d check in with you. Let you know I didn’t decide to bail and take a plunge from one of the bridges or something,” he told her, laughing.  
  
“That’s not funny,” Wendy retorted. “Don’t joke about that.”  
  
“Sorry,” he apologized, sighing. “Bad habit. You know I’ve always been like that. I didn’t mean it.”  
  
“I’m proud of you, Juice. I know it was hard for you to come back there, after everything. You’ve come a long way, kid.”  
  
“Thanks. Couldn’t have done it without you, Wendy. You didn’t just give up on me like.. like everyone else,” he replied, throat tight with emotion.  
  
“You got yourself through it, sweetheart. Don’t forget that. You did the work, racked up the time. Everything you have is all you.”  
  
“Still,” he pressed, shaking his head, “thank you, Wendy. Really. You got me through some bad times.”  
  
“Did you hear back from him?” she asked, adeptly changing the subject before Juice began to dwell too much on the past.  
  
“I haven’t checked. Too nervous,” he admitted.  
  
“I can’t believe you never read his emails. Didn’t he send like, twelve of them?”  
  
Juice shrugged. “Yeah… just… couldn’t do it, Wen. I’ll talk to him in person. If he shows.”  
  
“He’ll show,” Wendy replied, laughing. “No way Chibby will turn down a face-to-face with you after he put in all that effort trying to talk with you.”  
  
“Sending an email is hardly-”  
  
“It’s Chibs we’re talking about. Guy’s shit with technology.”  
  
Juice laughed. “Fair enough.”  
  
“So how does it feel, knowing that you’re hours away from being reunited with the love of your life?” she teased.  
  
“Stop,” he retorted, blushing. “It’s not even like that, Wen. He was just… he was my best friend.”  
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
“It’s not like anything happened…” he trailed off, grabbing his wallet from his back pocket.  
  
“You had such a hard-on for him, it’s not even funny. You don’t just carry a picture of you and your _best friend_ in your wallet, hon.”  
  
Juice remained silent, removing the folded picture, staring down at it.  
  
“You’re looking at the picture, aren’t you?” she asked.  
  
“Yeah,” he admitted, tenderly tucking the photograph away.  
  
“You’re going to be fine, Juice. I promise. If you aren’t ready to spill your guts to him about your feelings, just take this as an opportunity to get some closure on how things ended with the club. I know you have questions you want answered by him.”  
  
“Yeah, I know…” he sighed.  
  
“Just remember, hon. After these two weeks are over, you’re going home to New York. If things don’t go well, you never have to come back out there, again. You are in control of what happens next. You don’t have to stay or even talk to him ever again if you don’t like how things transpire. Okay?”  
  
“Okay… I know. Thanks Wen.”  
  
“Love you, Juice. Keep me posted.”  
  
“Will do. Love you, too.”

* * *

Juice glanced up to find Chibs carefully observing him a respected distance from the table he’d been camped out at since earlier that morning.  
  
He took a full minute to eye the older man up and down, committing the image of him to memory. He’d cut his hair shorter than it’d been the last time he’d seen him. There was a bit more gray streaked through his dark locks than there’d been before, as well. Yet somehow, the man before him looked younger, less troubled than the last time he’d seen him. _Less stress, maybe. God knows all the shit that went down the last few years in the club aged him terribly_. “Hey,” he greeted the older man, closing his laptop and putting it away into his bag.  
  
Chibs approached him, offering him a warm smile. “It’s been a long time, lad,” he said, his accent thick.  
  
Juice nodded. “I’m glad you decided to show,” he told him, smiling back.  
  
“Didnae give me much of a choice, did ye, lad? Never responded to any of my emails.”  
  
Juice shrugged. “I never read them, honestly,” he admitted, shooting him what he hoped was an apologetic look.  
  
“So why’d ye decide to tell me ye were comin’ here?”  
  
“I wanted to see you again,” he said lowly.  
  
“An’ why’s that?”  
  
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Juice admitted.  
  
The two sat in awkward silence for a moment.  
  
“You want to come back to my hotel room with me? It might be less… weird… to talk there. Without people around, listening. You know?” Juice suggested, surprised by his forwardness.  
  
“Tha’ was fast. Less than ten minutes and you’re already tryin’ ta take me back to yours?” Chibs smirked, shaking his head.  
  
Juice laughed, grabbing his bag. “You’re an asshole,” he told him, motioning for Chibs to follow. “You come up here alone or have you got a prospect or someone tailing you?”  
  
“Drove up meself. No one knows I’m here seein’ ye.”  
  
Juice nodded. “Hotel’s around the corner. We could just walk over if you’d like. Don’t know what your parking situation was like.”  
  
“Lead the way, lad.”

* * *

Chibs went into the bathroom, took a piss, washed his hands. He examined the row of pill bottles on the bathroom counter, picking each one up, reading it. _Fluoxetine. Alprazolam. Quetiapine._  
  
He returned to the living area of the suite, finding Juice sitting on the couch, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. Chibs smiled slightly, recalling the nervous tic the boy had had for years. _Guess some things never change._  
  
“So… how ye been, lad?” he asked, taking a seat beside him.  
  
“I’m okay,” Juice retorted, nodding his head.  
  
“Thought we could grab a drink, maybe? Talk some? Tha’ bar downstairs looks pretty nice… bet they’ve got some decent Scotch on hand, instead of the swill they’ve got at the clubhouse,” he suggested, laughing.  
  
“I don’t drink anymore,” Juice replied, shrugging.  
  
“Oh?” Chibs glanced at Juice, surprised. The boy had always liked his tequila. It was hard to believe he’d given that up.  
  
“I’ve been sober three years, now. I stopped with the pills, the drugs, everything.”  
  
“How’s that been?”  
  
“It’s good… keeps my head clear. Let’s my medicine do it’s job.”  
  
“Ye mean the pharmacy ye got lined up in yer bathroom?”  
  
Juice laughed, shaking his head. “I was on more when I first started treatment. Way more. Just taking a few things now. I’ve got PTSD. Major Depression. OCD. The medicine keeps the symptoms at bay. Therapy keeps my head straight.”  
  
“Ye seeing anyone, lad?”  
  
“I just said-”  
  
Chibs rolled his eyes. “I meant are you _seeing_ anyone. Christ, you’re daft,” he interrupted, shooting Juice a meaningful look.  
  
Juice shook his head. “No… still dealing with some shit from prison. Not really ready to throw all my baggage on the table with someone else, you know?”  
  
Chibs looked at the scarring on Juice’s neck, guilt pooling in his stomach. “Juicy,” he said softly, reaching out to touch the mark on his neck.  
  
“JC,” he corrected him, stiffening at Chibs’ touch.  
  
“What happened in prison, JC?”  
  
“Tully… you know he made me his bitch, right?”  
  
Chibs sighed, shaking his head. “No, lad. I didnae know that.”  
  
Juice frowned, eyebrows furrowed. “Well, he did. Jax gave me to him. Gave him permission to use me however he saw fit.”  
  
“Lad-”  
  
Let me finish,” Juice interrupted, holding up his hand. “Jax told me that the club voted Mayhem for me… he arranged to have Tully take me out when he decided it was time.”  
  
“Tully did tha’ to ye?” Chibs asked, again brushing his fingers lightly against the scar tissue on Juice’s neck.  
  
“Yeah. He did. Happy said that ain’t true, though. That the club never voted Mayhem on me.”  
  
“Jackson had his own agenda, lad. The club never sanctioned a hit on you. “  
  
“He didn’t kill me, obviously. He uh… he missed. Told me that one day I’d thank him for saving me.”  
  
Chibs remained silent, unsure of how to respond.  
  
“Can I ask you something?” Juice asked quietly.  
  
“Sure, lad. What is it?”  
  
“Why did you turn your back to me?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re-”  
  
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Juice retorted, cutting him off. “After the shit with the Mayans, before I went back inside. You wouldn’t even look at me. Were you that disgusted by me?”  
  
“I couldn’t bear to look at what we’d turned you into, lad,” Chibs said quietly, staring down at his feet.  
  
“I should have done a better job looking after ye, lad. I knew you were drowning under all the shite going on and instead of doing somethin’ about it, I looked the other way. I failed ye, and I’m sorry for that, Juicy.”  
  
Juice tensed. “Don’t call me that.”  
  
“Yer always gonnae be Juice ta me, lad. Ye can move across the country and change yer name and pretend all ye want, but ya can’t run from your past. _Our_ past.”  
  
Juice tensed as he felt Chibs’ hand on his thigh, the touch sending heat radiating through his body.  
  
He glanced up at the other man, eyes wide in surprise. “Ye look good, lad. More like yerself than ye did the last couple o’ years wit’ the club,” Chibs told him, desire apparent in his eyes.  
  
Juice nodded. “I wasn’t taking care of myself back then. You know that. I’d lost any will to live. I thought I was a dead man walking.”  
  
“An’ now?”  
  
Juice remained silent for a moment, considering his words. “When I first got out of Stockton, I hated Tully. I hated him because I felt he robbed me of what I was owed. A peaceful way out. I was ready to die when he stabbed me. I asked him to.”  
  
Chibs removed his hand from Juice’s thigh, grabbing his hand instead, giving it a squeeze.  
  
Juice sighed, squeezing back. “But now? Most days, I’m grateful to him. He gave me another chance. I have a good life, Filip. A life I’m proud of. I have things to live for. I never thought I’d feel that way again… Not after I lost you,” he continued, the last part spoken low, barely above a whisper.  
  
“Ye ne’r lost me, Juice,” Chibs replied just as softly, reaching up with his free hand to stroke Juice’s cheek. “I missed ye somethin’ terrible, Juicy.”  
  
Juice froze, pulled away from his touch. “Fuck you, man,” he said coldly, shaking his head.  
  
“Ye don’t believe me?” Chibs asked, taken aback by the sudden change in Juice’s demeanor.  
  
“You’re something else, you know that?” Juice spat, rising to his feet.  
  
“Juice-”  
  
“You think it’s okay to just waltz back into my life and pretend that you didn’t _abandon_ me? Do you even remember what the last words you said to me were?” he said accusingly, eyes bright with anger.  
  
“It was a long time ago, lad,” he said lowly, not meeting Juice’s gaze.  
  
“If I were you, I’d get that gun, put it in my mouth, and pull the trigger,” Juice said, lips curled into a look of disgust. “I fucking came to you because I was at the end of my rope, looking for some kindness, some goddamn compassion, and _that’s_ what you said to me, Filip.”  
  
“I didnae mean it, lad-”  
  
“ _You don’t say that to someone you love_!” Juice screamed, angry tears forming in the corners of his eyes.  
  
“I have those words etched into my brain, _Filip_. I can close my eyes and _still_ see exactly how you looked when you said those words to me. You have _no idea_ what I’ve been through. You don’t know a goddamn thing about what it’s taken for me to get to where I am now.”  
  
“I’m sorry. I don’ know what ye want me to say, Juice. I fucked up. I didnae mean for ye to take those words like ye did… I thought…” he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I thought if I pushed ye away, ye’d run. I didnae want to hurt ye… I just wanted ye to get the fuck away from there. So ye’d be safe. I thought that would do it, convince ye to run.”  
  
Juice remained silent, processing his words.  
  
“Ye survived, though Juicy. Look at ye. It’s been so long since I’ve seen ye like this.. happy and healthy and whole.”  
  
Juice shook his head, wiping at his eyes with his right hand. “I’m not, though, man. Just because I’m doing better than I was doesn’t mean I’m any of those things. I still have night terrors from shit that happened in prison. I get that from where you’re standing, I look a lot better. But you have no idea how bad off I was for so long.”  
  
“So tell me.”


	4. Chapter 4

Juice sat quietly for several minutes, face buried in his hands, as he struggled to regain his composure. "Well," he started, glancing up nervously at Chibs, "I-I don't even know where to start. It's all just been so...." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "I don't know, man. I don't even want to think about some of the shit that's happened. I _don’t_ think about it… I try to block it out.”  
  
"An' how's that workin' out for ye, lad?" Chibs queried.  
  
Juice shrugged. "It'd work a lot better if I hadn't gotten sober," he muttered, shaking his head. _Actually, now would be a great time to get high_. He took a deep breath, ran his hands over his shaved head. “I’m um, working on that. In therapy. My therapist, she calls it ‘owning my past.’ I don’t know. This Is really hard, man,” he confessed.  
  
Chibs nodded, patted his knee. “I’m sure it is, lad.”  
  
He sighed, considered what to say. "When I first got out of Stockton, it took a while to fully grasp that I was free," he started, rubbing his hands anxiously on his thighs. "I would have just killed myself once I got released if it hadn't been for Wendy. She kept me together when I didn't even know if I wanted to live."  
  
"I didnae know you an' Wendy kept in touch,” Chibs noted, visibly surprised.  
  
Juice nodded affirmatively. "Yeah. She wrote me while I was inside. Came to visit every once in a while. She's the one who came to get me and put me on a plane out east. Got me settled in, looked after me while I went through withdrawal."  
  
Chibs frowned, his face etched with concern.  
  
"Heroin," he offered, smiling wistfully. "Started out sniffing it... It's easier to get than pills. Ended up shooting it…” he paused, his right hand instinctively touching the crook of his left arm, where he knew the faint but still visible scarring of track marks lay. He frowned, grateful that his long sleeved shirt covered the marks. “But that's... that's a whole different story. I don't wanna talk about all that. Not now at least," he continued, frowning.  
  
"Was the withdrawal bad?"  
  
Juice shrugged. "Yeah. It sucked. But honestly..." he paused, silently debated telling him the truth. He took a deep breath, bit his lower lip. "At the time, it was almost a relief. Physical pain I can deal with. It gave me something to focus on, rather than all the shit running through my head. Hard to dwell on the fact that you've lost everything that matters, that no one will ever want you when you're so physically sick.”  
  
Chibs' brow furrowed in concern, he reached over, placed a gentle hand on the younger man's knee. "Juice..."  
  
"I barely left my apartment the first year. Christ, I barely left my bed. Especially the first couple of months. Probably would have just holed up in there and wasted away if it weren't for Wendy and her stupid insistence I go to NA meetings."  
  
Juice sighed, picked imaginary lint off his jeans. "I'd go to a meeting once a week, just so I wouldn't have to lie to her when she called to check in. I didn't... She didn't know how bad the first year was. But you know me, Chibby, I can fake it with the best of them," he said, his voice ringing with fake cheer.  
  
"I wasn't sleeping much... the dreams were too much to bear. I didn't know that the nightmares, the flashbacks, the constant panic attacks... that it was PTSD. My buddy Ben, from NA. He's the one who told me what it was, got me some help."  
  
“Thas’ why ye take the meds,” Chibs said slowly, looking confused.  
  
“Partially,” Juice agreed. “I take medication to manage symptoms. With the PTSD, though, what really helped was therapy. Talking about what happened, processing it. Letting go of things I can’t change.”  
  
“Huh,” Chibs mumbled, nodding. “You still have night terrors, ye said?”  
  
Juice nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
Juice frowned, sighed heavily. “Prison, mostly.”  
  
The two remained silent, Chibs patting the younger man’s leg.   
  
“I didn’t know until my sentence was almost up but… when Tully raped me… sometimes…” he trailed off, worried at his lower lip.   
  
Chibs nodded, listening intently.  
  
“Sometimes in my sleep, I’d cry out for… for _someone_. I had no idea I was doing it. Tully asked me about it. It was mortifying. Apparently the guards heard me sometimes, called me a faggot for calling for another man.”  
  
Chibs stared at him, realization dawning in his eyes. “Juice-”  
  
“You just dropped me like I was nothing, man. You were the closest thing I ever had to feeling,” his voice cracked, wavering with emotion, “feeling like I mattered, like I was someone worth loving and you just… you acted like you didn’t even care. That I was nothing, less than nothing to you.”  
  
Chibs sucked in a breath, rubbed his face brusquely with his hands. “Juicy,” he said lowly, his voice muffled by his hands, “I’m sorry. Christ, I’m sorry.”  
  
Juice shrugged, pressed his lips together. “It was a long time ago. It’s stupid that I’m still…” he sighed heavily, shoulders slumped forward.  
  
Juice glanced over at Chibs, who was eyeing him with a mixed expression of concern and pity. _I don’t want him to feel sorry for me_ , he thought miserably. Still, he allowed the man to pat his knee, savoring the feeling of the man’s touch. _God_ , he had missed that, the simple intimacy of someone touching him, holding him. Gently, of course. He’d gotten more than he was sure he could ever take of the rough handling and touches he’d been on the receiving end of while in prison.   
  
“So uh, how's the club?” Juice asked abruptly, eager to change the subject.  
  
“Good,” Chibs retorted, nodding. “It's better than it was. For those of us left, I think we all agreed that enough blood had been shed... some of the old shite, guns and everythin’, wasn’ worth it to continue… not after everythin’ that happened.”  
  
Juice nodded. “That’s good. You seem… less stressed. It’s good. Nice to see you looking like you’ve no longer got the weight of the world on your shoulders, man.”  
  
Chibs smiled at him, shook his head bemusedly. “Ne’er gonnae be as pretty as you, lad. But I appreciate it all the same. Certainly feel less stressed than I have in ages.”  
  
Juice shrugged, smiling shyly. “I always thought you looked good, Chibby.”  
  
Chibs smiled warmly at him, patted his knee absently. “Still cannae believe you’re here beside me, Juicy,” he said fondly. “Christ, it’s been too long.”  
  
“Six years,” Juice affirmed.   
  
“Six years,” Chibs repeated, shaking his head. “Christ, I’m old. How old are ye now, Juicy? Don’ look a day over thirty,” he said shooting the younger man an appreciative look.  
  
“Just turned thirty-six in March,” Juice replied, smiling. “How's the kid? She’s what, twenty-two, twenty-three now?”  
  
“She's good. Finished uni, she's living in London now. Accountant. Dunnae where the lass got her smarts. Certainly not from me,” Chibs replied, laughing.  
  
“Ye talk to your family at all, Juicy? Now that you're back in New York?” he asked.  
  
Juice shook his head. “Nah. My sisters don't want anything to do with me. I get it… we had a crappy childhood. Makes sense they don’t want to be around anyone who reminds them of it.”  
  
Chibs frowned. He didn't like the sound of Juicy all alone out there. The lad didn't do well on his own, he knew that all too well. “So it's just you?” he asked, unable to mask the concern in his voice.  
  
Juice shrugged. “I've got Wendy. She checks in with me, still. My sponsor. We meet once a week for coffee. He’s a good guy. A couple of other people from NA... Ben, Mark, Elle. We all hang out sometimes.”  
  
“Elle?” Chibs said, eyebrows raised. “She cute?”  
  
Juice smirked. “She’s a lesbian. Her partner, Marya, hangs out with us, too.”  
  
“What about you? You seeing anyone, Filip?” Juice asked, the question slipping from his lips.  
  
He shrugged. “Not really.”  
  
Juice nodded, tucked that information away for later. _Not really_ meant that he wasn't seeing anyone exclusively, but was likely hooking up with the various crow eaters and hangers on that swarmed around the MC like flies.   
  
“You happy out there, Juice?” Chibs asked, drawing the younger man’s attention back to him.  
  
Juice frowned, paused for a long moment. “I don't know,” he said finally, shrugging. “I like my life out there. I do. It's just... lonely, I guess,” he admitted, staring down at his lap.  
  
“Lookin’ like ye do, lad, it’s hard to believe you’d have a hard time findin’ the company of a bonny lass.”  
  
Juice smiled sadly, shook his head. “Not like that… I’m not… not looking for that, necessarily. I just miss having a connection with someone who just got me, you know?”  
  
Chibs nodded. “Have you even been with anyone, since ye got released, lad?”  
  
Juice froze, taken aback by his question. “I-I-I uh,” he stammered, eyes widened in shock as he struggled to string together a believable lie.  
  
Chibs interrupted the lad, grabbing him roughly by the back of the neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Teeth clashed together, as Juice became vividly aware of what was occurring, eagerly opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. The two parted several minutes later, a pulsing charge coursing through both their veins.   
  
“What was that about?” Juice asked, gently bringing his fingers to his lips, as if to prove to himself that what had just happened was, in fact, real.  
  
Chibs smiled, reached forward, cupping Juice’s chin in his hand. “Mah Juicy. Christ, I’ve missed ye,” he told him, pressing a gentle kiss to the younger man’s lips. “Figured ye were due a proper kiss.”  
  
Juice leaned in to his touch, heat pooling in his belly as he felt Chibs’ lips press soft kisses to his neck, his tongue teasingly licking right below his Adam’s apple, always a sensitive spot for him. To his surprise, he felt the faintest twitch of his cock in his jeans. _Huh. That’s new_. Much to Juice’s chagrin, his body hadn’t shown any response to sexual stimuli since he’d been released from prison. _Probably even longer_ , he thought darkly. A low moan escaped his lips as he reacted to the feeling of warm lips sucking on the tender skin along his collarbone.  
  
“Ye alright, lad?” Chibs asked, smirking.   
  
Juice stared at the older man, shocked by the sudden onset of desire he felt for the man. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by the tinny ringing of a phone.   
  
Chibs procured the phone from his pocket, quickly answering it. “Hey. Aye. Aye, I can be there... just give me a bit. I'm up by O-town. Right. Good enough.” He clicked the phone shut, effectively ending the call. “Sorry, club business,” he said, shooting juice an apologetic look.  
  
“Of course. I get it,” he agreed, nodding.  
  
“It's good to see ye, missed ye.”  
  
“Yeah,” Juice agreed, rising to his feet as well, arms hanging uselessly at his sides. “Yeah… me too.”  
  
Chibs pulled him in for a hug. The two stood pressed close for several minutes longer than necessary, Juice taking the opportunity to memorize the older man’s scent, his touch, savoring the moment.   
  
“You'll be in town for a while longer, lad?” Chibs asked, his breath hot on Juice’s ear.  
  
“Yeah. I fly back next Friday,” Juice affirmed, heart pounding anxiously in his chest.  
  
“Maybe I could call ye. Pick up where we left off in catchin’ up,” Chibs drawled, his fingers lightly tracing the back of Juice’s neck, sending chills down his spine.  
  
Juice nodded, clearing his throat. “Yeah, yeah sure. I'll uh, give you my number.”


	5. Chapter 5

It came as no surprise to Juice when he received a text from Chibs a few days after their encounter. _Club business. Urgent. Sorry._ He knew the life. He knew, certainly, that things came up. The club came first, always. He tried not to let it bother him. It was for the best, he told himself. He could barely handle admitting the painful details of his time in prison to his _therapist_ , for God’s sake. It had taken everything out of him just to say what he’d said to Chibs. And besides, even if he was attracted to the older man, even though his body _had_ , at long last, _finally_ reacted to sexual stimuli, it’s not as though he’d even be able to do anything about it. Kissing was one thing. Actual intimacy… there was no way, _no fucking way_ , he was ready to face that. Even if it was Chibs. Trying and failing to keep his disappointment in check, he finished out his time in San Francisco, throwing himself into his work. He lived a different life now, maybe not an exciting one, but it was stable and healthy and it was _his_. He doubted anything good could come of messing around with his… he frowned, the words lingering on his tongue. What _was_ Chibs to him? They’d only slept together a few times. Their _relationship_ , if you could even call it that, had consisted mostly of drunken blowies and hand-jobs, furious kisses during the rare few moments they could slip away from the others. He frowned. No, it had been more than that. While certainly, there had been a sexual element, the emotional bond was what made losing him back then as devastating as it’d been. Still, Juice forced himself to avoid dwelling on the matter. So what if seeing the man again only made him miss him even more desperately? So what if Filip’s touch was the only thing that could strike his fancy? Juice lived on the East Coast and Chibs was in California. It never would have worked, he told himself. Miserably, he packed his bags, called a cab to take him to the airport. He arrived back in New York to gray skies and pouring rain. _Fitting_ , he thought miserably.

* * *

Juice was no stranger to black moods. He'd certainly weathered his fair share of storms in his lifetime. Still, he'd hoped that his occasional depressed mood wouldn't develop into a full blown depressive episode. Sure, he was more tired than he usually was, but that had more to do with his increased workload than anything else, right? Subconsciously, he knew he was in the midst of an episode. He knew he should tell his therapist, tell his friends. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to do so. He still got up and went to work, he argued. He still took his meds everyday, went to his appointments. As long as he was doing everything right, maintaining all his obligations, he couldn't be that bad off, could he?

* * *

Juice lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above him. He squinted at the alarm clock across from him, on his dresser. _9:30am_. He knew he really _should_ get out of bed. He had an appointment that afternoon with his therapist and he hadn’t been to the gym in a few days. Still… he sighed heavily, closed his eyes. The very thought of even getting up was too much. Clumsily, he reached for his phone, pulling the covers back over his head. He opened his messages, barely registering that he had multiple unread texts, quickly punching out a message to his therapist, canceling his appointment, before pressing send, tossing his phone to the side. _It can wait. All of it can wait._

* * *

Juice stared at his reflection in the mirror, frowning. _God_ he was exhausted. He stared at the row of pill vials, overwhelmed by the sheer quantity of them. Lately, everything was just _too much_ to deal with. The thought of simply opening each pill bottle, let alone taking all of his medications, was exhausting. “Forget it,” he mumbled to himself, leaving the bottles untouched, retreating from the bathroom. “Not like it’s helping, anyway,” he told himself, sighing.  
  
He wandered into his kitchen, debated making himself something to eat. He hadn’t been eating too well, lately. Just the thought of food made him feel sick. He knew that not eating wasn’t helping his fatigue, but still… it was better than throwing up whatever he attempted to keep down, which was beginning to occur any time he _tried_ to eat, the past few weeks. He recoiled at the memory of choking back up dry toast he’d eaten. He shrugged. _Not worth it_ , he thought, rubbing his eyes. He settled down on the couch, head resting in his hands. His night terrors had been getting worse. While he could still do his work, thank god, every other waking moment he found himself dwelling on past memories, particularly his time in prison. Despite his best efforts, certain memories, things he thought he’d repressed to the point of no return, were beginning to resurface. He exhaled slowly, digging his fingernails into his arm. _Fuck, I would kill to get high_. He rose to his feet, began pacing the room. It would be easy to score, he told himself. He could be in the Bronx in twenty minutes, be back home with the dope in less than an hour. He could dig out his rig, shoot up…. he smiled blissfully. _If only._  
  
He sighed, rubbed his hands against his thighs. He knew he should call someone… his therapist, someone from NA, hell, even Filip… He frowned, began to pace again. “I need something to make it stop for a little while,” he said aloud, rubbing his face roughly. For the first time in a long while, Juice craved a drink. He hadn’t enjoyed a cold one in a _really_ long time. Barely aware of his own actions, he grabbed his wallet, left the apartment, made his way towards the bodega around the corner. He examined the cold-case, grabbed two thirty-bricks of Bud Light. _It’s just beer_ , he told himself. _It’s not like I’m shooting up_. He wouldn’t get high, but he could still get drunk. At least it was something. He had to stop the racing thoughts, he argued, cracking a beer open the moment he arrived back at his apartment. He brought the can to his lips, savoring the first sip. He sighed contently as the cool liquid poured down his throat. _This is heaven._

* * *

After two weeks of missed meetings and countless ignored texts and phone calls, Ben came to check on him, concerned. He found Juice curled up on the couch under a blanket in the middle of the day, shades pulled tightly closed, keeping any sunlight from shining into the living room. He smelt the faintest scent of alcohol. He frowned. _No, he wouldn’t. Would he?_  
  
“JC.”  
  
Juice mumbled something incomprehensible, eyes glazed over.  
  
“Haven't seen you in a few days, man. You weren't answering your cell, either. Your super let me in. Everything okay?” he asked, leaning against the door-frame.  
  
Juice shrugged. “Yeah.”  
  
“You seem a little… off. You taken your meds?”  
  
Juice frowned. “I don't remember.”  
  
Ben nodded, wandered off to the bathroom, where he found Juice’s prescription bottles lined up, looking suspiciously full. He returned to the living room, Juice still curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the television. “Do you remember taking your meds the past few days, pal?”  
  
Again, Juice shrugged. “I don’t know… maybe? I uh, I know I finished up the two projects I had lined up for this month…”  
  
“You doing okay, man?” Ben asked, taking a seat on the couch beside him. He frowned, overwhelmed by the scent of liquor on Juice’s breath. He stared wildly, catching sight of the beer in his hand, the empty cans littering the floor beside him. “Are you drunk?” he asked, taken aback.  
  
Juice laughed, shook his head. “Yeah… guess… guess I am,” he agreed, laughing hollowly.  
  
“I just keep thinking, you know. I don’t know why I’m still here… I was ready, man. I was ready to fucking die. And he didn’t do it. He promised. He promised it’d be quick and painless and I’m just…” he slurred, hands shaking as he brought the can to his lips, took a swig.  
  
“It’s not like anyone would miss me… my own sisters don’t talk to me. N-no one else would…”  
  
“JC… you have a good life. You have friends, people who care about you-”  
  
“You call _this_ a life?” Juice scoffed, taking another gulp of his beer. “I go to work and go to therapy and go to meetings and come home to this,” he paused, gesturing around him. “To an empty apartment. I’ve got no one.”  
  
He laughed, shook his head bitterly. “Not that anyone would want me… if I wasn’t such a fuckin’ coward I’d go cop, shoot up and end it all.”  
  
Ben stared at him, concerned. “JC… why don’t you put the beer down? We can make you a cup of coffee or something, talk this out.”  
  
Juice ignored him, grabbed another beer from the thirty-brick beside him. “I already threw my sobriety down the drain. Who fucking cares, now?”  
  
“JC…”  
  
Juice sighed, rubbed his face with his hands. “Ben just… just let me have this. I got nothin’ else, man. I figured, at least I’m not shootin’ up, even though that’s what I want. I’m just… I’m so tired. I’m so fuckin’ tired of waiting to feel _normal_ again.”  
  
Ben remained silent, patted Juice’s arm sadly. “People care about you JC. I care about you. Elle and the others, they’re worried about you. Your doctors. Filip-”  
  
“He didn’t even come back to see me when I was in town… probably too busy fucking some stupid crow eater… I can’t believe I…” he trailed off, laughing coldly.  
  
“Haven’t been able to get it up in over six years, haven’t even _had_ any type of sexual desire until he… he fucking kissed me and _bam_ , he’s got me hooked all over again. And then he just _bailed_. Again. I don’t know what I expected,” he muttered, more so to himself than to Ben. He took another swig of beer, tossed the still half-full can at the wall, spraying the room with cheap beer. “Fuck!”  
  
Ben sighed, excused himself for a moment. He went into Juice’s bedroom, unsure of how to proceed. He knew that trying to get him to stop drinking would be an exercise in futility. He wasn’t going to stop until he was ready to. Still, he had to do something. He spotted Juice’s phone sitting on his nightstand. He grabbed it, scrolling through his messages. It appeared that he hadn’t just been avoiding Ben, there were at least a hundred unread messages from half a dozen people. He frowned, spotting a familiar name. _Filip_. Ben held the phone in his hand for a few minutes, considering. He sighed, pressing call, holding the phone up to his ear. 

* * *

“Aye?”  
  
“Hi… Filip?”  
  
Chibs frowned, glanced at the phone, checking to see who had called him. _Why’s some bloke callin’ me from Juicy’s phone?_ “Who’s this?” he asked gruffly.  
  
“This is Ben… JC’s friend.”  
  
“Somethin’ wrong?” Chibs asked, fear coursing through his veins.  
  
He heard the man on the other end of the line sigh heavily. “Um… I’m sorry to bother you but, I’m a little worried about JC. Really worried, honestly.”  
  
“What’s wrong with him? He alright?”  
  
Again, he heard a sigh on the other end of the line. “He’s um. He’s drunk. Really drunk, from the looks of it,” the other man, Ben, said finally.  
  
Chibs frowned, brows furrowed. “Thought he didnae drink anymore.”  
  
“He hasn’t drank since I’ve known him. I don’t think he’s been taking his medication, either…”  
  
“Shite.”  
  
“I think… I think he could really use a friend right now. He’s saying some things that are… a little worrisome. I’m afraid he might hurt himself.”  
  
Chibs squeezed his eyes shut, silently counted to ten, willing himself to exude a calmness he didn’t feel. “Ye don’ wannae get between the lad an’ the bottle if he’s in a mood,” he said slowly, exhaling through his nose. “Lad’s got a nasty temper. Best ta just let him ride it out. He won’t listen tae a word ye say til’ he’s sober.”  
  
“You’ve known him a long time, haven’t you?” Ben asked.  
  
“Aye.”  
  
“Has he ever y’know, attempted, before?”  
  
Chibs blanches, holds the phone away from his ear. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the sick feeling in his stomach to cease. He can still see Juicy looking terrified, bruises around his neck from when he tried to- he shakes his head, willing away the thought.  
  
“Hello? You still there?”  
  
Chibs returns the phone to his ear. “Yeah…” he sighs heavily. “Yeah. He’s tried to before.”  
  
_Silence._  
  
Chibs frowned; in the background, he heard shattering glass. “Everythin’ alrigh’ over there?” he asked.  
  
“Shit… I gotta go check on him. I think he’s breaking something.”  
  
“Ben-”  
  
“Yeah?” he replied, distractedly.  
  
“Ye want to text me his address? I’m gonnae see abou’ gettin’ a flight out there. Come check on the lad.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah sure,” Ben agreed.

* * *

Chibs held the phone to his ear, listening to the click of the call ending. He rubbed his face roughly with his hands, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. _Shite_. He strode out of the clubhouse, heading toward the garage. He found Happy working on a car, rapped lightly on the hood to grab the man’s attention.  
  
“Yeah?” Happy asked, rolling out from under the car.  
  
“Gottae go out of town for a few days. Dunnae for how long,” he said brusquely, running his fingers anxiously through his hair.  
  
“Your kid?” Happy asked, concerned.  
  
Chibs shook his head, shot him a pointed look.  
  
Happy nodded, realization dawning on his face. “Oh. _Ohhh_. He okay?”  
  
“Dunnae… “ Chibs retorted, frowning. “Got a call from his friend from NA… he’s been drinkin’. Heard glass shatterin’ while I was on the line with him…” he elaborated, mouth curled into a frown.  
  
“Shit… you think he’s using again?” Happy asked, his tone low.  
  
Happy had known that Chibs had gone to see Juice, had seen right through his cover story. Trusting his Sergeant at Arms to keep his mouth shut, he’d confided in him, told him an abridged version of what Juice had shared with him.  
  
“I hope not,” he replied, sighing heavily.  
  
Happy nodded, patted the man sympathetically on his shoulder. “Do what you need to, brother. If the others ask, I’ll say it’s family. Alright?”  
  
“Aye,” Chibs replied, nodding. “Thanks brother.”


	6. Chapter 6

After a hellish red eye flight from Oakland to New York, Chibs arrived at Juice’s Queens apartment building at six thirty in the morning, anxiety gnawing in the pit of his stomach. He cracked open an airplane bottle of whiskey he’d picked up at the airport, draining the contents before tossing the empty bottle into the street. He checked his phone once again, to ensure he had the right address. _Hopefully he’s passed out by now. Kid hasn’t had a drink in Christ knows how long. Doubt he could pull an all-nighter bender, anymore_. Taking a deep breath, he entered the apartment complex, taking the stairs to the third floor, easily locating Juice’s apartment, number 317. He stood before the door for a few moments, mentally preparing himself for whatever lay behind the door. Putting his game face on, he knocked twice on the door, slipping his hands back into his pockets.  
  
After a few moments, the door creaked open, revealing a young man with sandy colored hair, his expression grim. “Can I help you?” he asked, eyeing Chibs warily.  
  
“Here to see Juice,” he retorted, lips pressed firmly together.  
  
The man at the door’s eyes widened. “Oh. You must be… you’re Filip?” he asked, questioningly.  
  
“Aye.”  
  
The man opened the door wider, gesturing for Chibs to come in. “How is he?” Chibs asked, glancing around the apartment. It appeared extremely tidy, save for the array of beer cans littering the living room floor.   
  
“He’s passed out, right now. It was a rough night,” Ben replied grimly, frowning.   
  
“What do ye mean by tha’?”  
  
Ben sighed, motioning for Chibs to follow him into the kitchen. “Why don’t we sit down, discuss this over coffee? You look like you could use a cup or two.”  
  
Chibs nodded, settling down at the small kitchen table while Ben busied himself with brewing a pot of coffee.   
  
“So what exactly happened last night?” he pressed.  
  
Ben remained silent, placing a mug of coffee before Chibs, taking a seat opposite him at the table.   
  
Chibs took a sip of the coffee, wincing at the bitterness. “Uch, I dunnae how ye can drink tha’ black.”  
  
“Shit, I should have offered you sugar and cream. Sorry… Most of us from meetings take ours black,” he apologized.  
  
“It’s fine,” Chibs retorted, waving a hand dismissively. “Prefer tea, myself. But coffee will do in a pinch,” he continued, rising to his feet. “Any idea where he keeps sugar?”  
  
Ben pointed at the appropriate cabinet.   
  
“Thanks,” Chibs noted, grabbing the sugar bowl and doctoring up his coffee to make it more palatable. He returned to the table, eyeing Ben expectantly.   
  
“Well,” Ben started, taking a deep sip of coffee, “he was drinking pretty heavily. Got himself pretty worked up about something… said a lot of things that were a little disturbing…” he trailed off.   
  
“So what exactly was he sayin’ that’s got you worried about him?” Chibs asked, taking a sip of his coffee.   
  
Ben frowned, carefully keeping his gaze focused on his own mug of coffee. “He said a lot of things… he was really drunk… hard to say if he even meant what he was saying…”  
  
“He say somethin’ about me?”  
  
Ben worried at his lip, glancing up to shoot him an apologetic look. “He was really drunk…” he offered, shrugging.  
  
“What’d he say?” Chibs pressed, shooting the younger man a deadly look.   
  
“He uh… said you blew him off while he was on the West Coast. Said you were probably too busy fucking a crow eater? He pretty much refused to speak to me after he said all that…” Ben said finally, wringing his hands nervously.  
  
Chibs nodded, rubbing his face furiously with his hands. “Jesus Christ…”   
  
“So… d’ye have any idea why Juicy would just go and do this?” he continued, rapping his fingers anxiously against the kitchen table. “Seemed pretty committed to stayin’ clean, last I saw him.”  
  
The younger man frowned. “He’s seemed _down_ lately. He stopped taking his meds, that certainly didn’t help.”  
  
“You ever seen him when he’s like this? Really low?” Chibs asked, genuinely curious.  
  
“Yeah,” he agreed, nodding. “He was extremely depressed when I first met him. Guy barely left the house. He really struggled his first year sober.”  
  
Chibs frowned. “He said somethin’ about havin’ major depression. Ye think that has somethin’ to do with all this?”  
  
Ben nodded. “Yeah. Absolutely… once you’ve had a major depressive episode, you’re likely to have them again. That would explain this sort of behavior.”  
  
Chibs nodded, processing his words. “Why would he stop taking his medication if that’s what helps keep him stable? I don’t understand that.”  
  
“It’s actually pretty common… a lot of people stop taking their meds when they’re having a depressive episode. And suddenly stopping antidepressants tends to trigger suicidal thoughts,” the younger man elaborated. “I didn’t realize how bad it’d gotten. JC tends to keep to himself. He didn’t show up for meetings the past few weeks… then he stopped answering his phone. I got worried. Should have stopped in to check on him sooner, I knew something wasn’t right,” he continued, frowning.  
  
“Juicy doesn’t do well on his own. I didnae like hearin’ that he was livin’ alone, not seein’ anyone. Lad’s not good left alone. Needs someone to look after him,” Chibs retorted, shaking his head.   
  
Ben stifled a yawn. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s been a long night.”  
  
“Aye. You can head on home, get some shut-eye if ye like. I can look after the lad.”  
  
“You sure?” he asked, hesitantly. “You look like you could use some sleep yourself, man.”  
  
Chibs shrugged. “I don’ sleep much, lad. I’m fine. Gone much longer without rest. I can look after Juicy.”  
  
Ben nodded gratefully. “Thanks. Listen, um… when he wakes up, you might want to take a look at his right hand.”  
  
“Why?” Chibs asked, frowning.   
  
“He put his fist through the window in the living room last night. Wouldn’t let me near him to check it out…” Ben retorted, sighing heavily.  
  
Chibs shook his head, sighing. _That explains the sound of shattered glass last night_. “I’ll take a look at him.”

* * *

“Juice. Juicy.”  
  
Juice blinked sluggishly, overwhelmed by the brightness of sunlight streaming through his blinds. “What?” he muttered, mouth painfully dry.   
  
“Ye alright, lad?”  
  
Juice opened his eyes, struggling to focus on the face before him. _Filip. What the hell is he doing here?_ “What do you want?” he asked, dully, squeezing his eyes back shut. Fuck, his head hurt. He just wanted to go back to sleep.  
  
“Need tae take a look at yer hand, lad.”  
  
“Why?” he asked dumbly.  
  
“Because you had the bright idea to put your fist through your living room window,” Chibs replied evenly.  
  
“Why are you even here, man?” he muttered, reluctantly giving the older man access to his injured hand.  
  
“Your friend gave me a call. Was worried about ye, so here I am,” Chibs retorted, shrugging.   
  
Juice rolled his eyes, nearly vomiting in the process. Even the slightest movement triggered his nausea. “Since when do _you_ care about me?”  
  
Chibs frowned. “I thought I made it clear to ye how I feel about you, lad.”  
  
Juice remained silent, turning his head to look the other way as Chibs began to pick shards of glass out of his hand with a tweezers.  
  
“Why are you here? I’m sure you have more _pressing_ matters to attend to, with the club,” he hissed, accusingly.  
  
“What are you gettin’ at, Juicy?”   
  
“You bailed on me when I was basically in your backyard. Why the fuck would you bother to come all the way out here, just because some stranger called you?” he huffed, turning away from him.  
  
“Ye know wha’ club life is, lad. If it was something I couldae put off, I would have. Ye know tha’.”  
  
Juice shrugged, wincing as Chibs removed a particularly stubborn shard of glass from his hand.  
  
“I thought ye didnae drink anymore, lad.”  
  
Juice sighed, shaking his head. “I needed something. It was this or heroin. Figured this was the better option.”  
  
“Ye been seein’ your doctor? She know you’re off your meds?”  
  
“How did you know-”  
  
“Yer friend Ben said he suspects ye stopped takin’ ‘em. How long ye been off ‘em, Juicy?”  
  
Juice sighed, biting down on his lower lip. “Couple weeks, I guess. They stopped helping so I guess I figured… why bother, you know?”  
  
“Do you remember last night, Juicy?”  
  
He shrugged. “Vaguely.”  
  
“Wha’ happened that you decided to put your fist through a window, lad?”  
  
“Can we not talk right now?” he mumbled, pressing his face against his pillow. “I just want to sleep,” he continued, his voice muffled.  
  
Chibs nodded, gently stroking the younger man’s cheek. “Alright, lad. You get some sleep, then.” He rose to his feet, making to leave.  
  
“Wait,” Juice said lowly, hand snaking out from beneath the covers, grabbing a hold of Chibs’ own. “Stay… _please_?” he asked, his voice low.   
  
Chibs nodded, taking a seat beside Juice on the bed.   
  
“Can you just lay with me for a little while?” Juice asked quietly, his expression vulnerable. “It’s been a long time since anyone’s just… just laid close to me, you know?”  
  
Chibs nodded, kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket. He got into bed beside Juice, letting the smaller man curl up beside him. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the younger man’s middle, pulling him closer still. “Missed ye, Juicy,” he whispered in his ear, pressing a kiss to Juice’s temple. “I’m sorry I didnae come see ye again while you were back home… if I could have, I would have, lad. Ye have tae know tha’.”

* * *

Juice woke with a start, overwhelmed by how hot he felt. He threw his blanket off of him, freezing as he felt arms wrapped around his waist, holding him in place. He turned his head, breathing a sigh of relief as he saw the familiar face of Filip beside him, watching him with a mixed expression of concern and longing. “How are you feeling, Juicy?” Filip asked, cracking him a half-smile.  
  
“You’re here,” he replied dumbly, tugging away from Filip’s hold to turn on his side and face him. “I thought I dreamed that.”  
  
“Yeah… I’m here, Juicy.”  
  
Juice nodded, began rubbing at his temples. “My head is fucking killing me,” he said lowly, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
“I’ve got Anacin if ye want it… is that okay for you to take?”  
  
Juice stared at him, overwhelmed by considerate gesture. “Yeah… Anacin is fine for me to take. Thanks.”  
  
Chibs nodded, disappearing from the room for a moment, returning with a glass of water and two white pills in his hand. Juice accepted them gratefully, slowly sipping the water, so as to not upset his stomach.  
  
“Looks like ye haven’t gone grocery shopping in some time, lad… your cupboards are bare,” Chibs noted, frowning.  
  
Juice shrugged, unsure of how to respond. “Haven’t been doing much, lately,” he said finally.  
  
“An’ why’s that, lad?”  
  
“I’m having a depressive episode,” he said lowly, covering his face with his hands. “I was forcing myself to do everything right… go to therapy, go to meeting, get my work done. I’m still doing my work but… even that feels like too much,” he elaborated, sighing heavily.  
  
“You’ve got an appointment to see your therapist this evening. Five o’clock,” Chibs told him, pacing the room.   
  
“How?” Juice asked, frowning. “I’ve canceled my last three appointments.”  
  
“I called her. Told her I’d bring ye in to see her.”  
  
“Why are you doing this? I’m not… I’m not your problem, Chibs.”  
  
“Don’t be daft, lad. Just let me help you, alright?” he retorted, pressing a kiss to Juice’s forehead.

* * *

“How are you feeling today, JC?” Dr. Knowles asked, once Juice had been seated in her office.  
  
“How do you think?” he retorted, sneering. “I’m hungover. I puked in the street outside of here. I fucked up… threw away three years of sobriety. I’m a failure.”  
  
Dr. Knowles observed him for a moment, her expression neutral. “You’re an addict, JC. You slipped up. While obviously, it isn’t good, it doesn’t mean that you’re a failure. What matters is how you move forward from this.”  
  
“I’m having a major depressive episode,” he said lowly, staring down at his feet. “I didn’t want to face it. I thought I had a handle on it.. until I didn’t.”  
  
“Is that Filip who came in with you today?” Dr. Knowles asked.  
  
Juice nodded. “Yeah. That’s him.”  
  
“He was very concerned about you when I spoke with him on the phone this morning,” Dr. Knowles noted. “He said you stopped taking your medication.”  
  
Juice nodded, ducking his head down shamefully. “Yeah… I stopped taking it a few weeks ago. I was feeling really lousy doc, it seemed like it wasn’t helping so….” he trailed off.  
  
“Are you suicidal?”  
  
“Yeah… I’m not going to, though. I can’t… he found me after I…. I can’t do that to him, again,” he mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands.   
  
“We need to get you back on your medication, JC. You said that you’re in the midst of a depressive episode. Stopping your medication suddenly can exacerbate suicidal thoughts.”  
  
Juice nodded. “Okay.”  
  
“Do you think you can remain safe while staying at home?” Dr. Knowles asked.  
  
“Yeah… Chibs… Filip is going to stay with me. He said he’d stay.”  
  
“Are you comfortable with Filip joining us for a few minutes, to review your medication schedule, and make sure he understands ways he can help you through this adjustment?”  
  
Juice shrugged. “I guess so…”

* * *

“Filip?”   
  
Chibs glanced up from the magazine he’d been staring at, catching sight of the brunette doctor observing him from the doorway. “Aye?”  
  
“Would you mind joining us for a few minutes?”  
  
Chibs shrugged. “Juicy okay with tha’?” he asked.  
  
She nodded. “He said it’s okay.”  
  
Chibs nodded, rising to his feet. He followed Dr. Knowles into the room, taking a seat beside Juice on the couch. Juice shot him an apologetic look. “Sorry,” he whispered, staring down at the floor.  
  
Chibs patted his knee gently. “Nothin’ to be sorry for, lad,” he whispered back, leaving his hand resting on Juice’s knee. He knew the boy craved touch, found it comforting.  
  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Filip,” Dr. Knowles said, offering Chibs a warm smile.   
  
“Everything alright?” Chibs asked, turning to face Juice.  
  
Juice nodded, hands fidgeting nervously in his lap. “Sorry… she doesn’t… she just wants you to know about what meds I take, what you should know about them if you’re going to… I mean if you’re still okay with maybe staying with me for a little while.”  
  
Chibs grabbed one his hands, squeezing it gently. “I’ve got ye, Juicy. Okay? I’m here. Whatever ye need.”  
  
Dr. Knowles nodded. “Right now, JC’s sobriety is in a fragile state... I agree that his slip up was likely related to a major depressive episode, but right now our top priorities are keeping him safe and sober,” she noted, addressing Juice. She turned to face Chibs. “JC has agreed to begin taking his medication, which should be helpful in alleviating some of the suicidal thoughts. You’re going to be staying with him for a little while?” she asked.  
  
He nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
“That’s good. A strong support system is helpful in overcoming slip-ups, preventing them from turning into a full-blown relapse. For the time being, I am going to recommend increasing your dosage of fluoxetine from 40mg to 80mg… So he should be taking one pill in the morning, and a second dose midday. We’ll continue to keep him at 200mg daily of quetiapine. That’s one dose daily, two pills. The alaprazolam should be taken as necessary, no more than three times daily,” Dr. Knowles explained, writing down what she said on a pad of paper, handing it to him.   
  
“I’d like to increase our sessions to three times a week, for the time being,” she continued, addressing Juice.  
  
“Okay,” he agreed, sighing heavily.  
  
“Is there anything else that can help him?” Chibs asked.  
  
“Sunlight exposure has proven to be beneficial. At least thirty minutes a day would be helpful. Are you still going for your morning runs, JC?” Dr. Knowles asked, addressing Juice.  
  
Juice shrugged. “Not lately,” he admitted. “Mostly I’ve just been sleeping and getting whatever work I have done as quickly as possible so I can go back to sleep.”  
  
“What about going to the gym?”  
  
“Don’t have much energy for that,” he affirmed, frowning.  
  
Dr. Knowles nodded. “You should try and get outside for a little while each day, even if it’s only for fifteen minutes or so to walk to the store and back. Don’t overexert yourself but keep in mind, exercise has been beneficial for your mental health and maintaining your recovery. When you’re feeling better, I’m sure you’ll fall back into your usual routine.”  
  
“Anything else?” Chibs asked.  
  
“Routine is crucial. Keeping to a strict schedule has been proven to be helpful in managing JC’s depression as well as his obsessive compulsive behaviors. Try and keep him following his usual routine, even if he isn’t necessarily feeling up to it. JC, maybe you could write down your usual daily routine, so Filip can keep track of it?” Dr. Knowles suggested.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” he agreed.  
  
“Alright. Our time is up. I am of course available by phone if need be, but otherwise, I will see you Monday afternoon?” she asked, looking to Juice.  
  
“Yeah… Sounds good,” he affirmed.


	7. Chapter 7

“So how’s he doing?” Happy asked, his voice tinny from the bad reception.  
  
Chibs exhaled a plume of smoke, holding the phone closer to his ear. “Hard tae say. He stopped takin’ his meds… he’s suicidal.”  
  
“ _Shit_.”  
  
“Told his doc I’m gonnae stay wit’ him for a while, keep an eye on ‘im.”  
  
“For how long?”  
  
Chibs frowned, took a deep drag off his cigarette. “Dunnae. A few weeks, maybe.”  
  
“We need to tell the club, brother. They’re going to think it’s suspicious, you disappearing for that long, no reason given.”  
  
“So make somethin’ up,” Chibs retorted, frowning. “I don’ care wha’ ye tell them. Say somethin’ came up with Fi.”  
  
“A lot of time has gone by. I doubt they’d-”  
  
“I don’t have time to argue with ye about this, Hap. Tell them wha’ ye want. I need tae handle this.”  
  
_Silence_.  
  
Chibs angrily inhaled, held it for a moment, before exhaling, waiting for Happy to say something.  
  
“Do what you need to do. I’ll just say you’re handling family shit. _Okay_?”  
  
“Yeah. Sounds good,” Chibs retorted, voice clipped.  
  
“Take care of him, brother. Keep me posted.”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
Chibs clicked his phone shut, shoving it back into his coat pocket. He flicked his spent cigarette into the street, staring up at the sky. _Fuck I could use a drink_. He thought about running over to the corner store, grabbing a pint of something, but decided against it. _Can’t do that to him. If anything, it can wait until he’s asleep_. Resigned, he trudged up the stairs of the apartment complex, letting himself back in to Juice’s place.  
  
“Everything good?” Juice asked, eyeing him warily from the couch. In the time that Chibs had gone outside to have a smoke and call Happy, Juice had changed out of his jeans and shirt, opting for a pair of ratty sweats and a wifebeater.  
  
“Aye. Just checkin’ in. Lettin’ em know I’ll be out of town for some time,” Chibs replied, shrugging casually.  
  
“They know where you are?” Juice asked, curling up under a throw blanket.  
  
“Only Happy knows,” he replied, deciding to opt for honesty. Christ knows the kid could use it.  
  
Juice nodded, his expression blank. “Does anyone else know…” he trailed off, staring down at his lap.  
  
“Not my place to tell ‘em. Figured that’s up tae you, lad.”  
  
Chibs joined Juice on the couch, patting his knee absently. “Should probably get ye some dinner, eh, lad? Looks like you’ve missed a few meals.”  
  
“Not hungry,” Juice mumbled, pulling his blanket tighter around himself.  
  
Chibs opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by the sound of a knock at the door.

* * *

“Expecting company?” Chibs asked.  
  
Juice shrugged. “No… Can you get that?” he asked, shooting him a pleading look.  
  
Chibs nodded. Kid looked exhausted. He rose to his feet, striding towards the door. With practiced wariness, he opened the door a crack, scrutinizing the figure on the other side. He immediately recognized the young man from earlier, Ben. He opened the door fully, motioning for him to come in.  
  
“How’s he doing?” Ben asked, eyeing Chibs cautiously.  
  
“He’s doin’ alright,” Chibs retorted, leading the younger man back to the living room.  
  
“JC,” Ben said, hurrying past Chibs to sit beside Juice on the couch. “How you holdin’ up, man?”  
  
Juice shrugged, pulling at a loose thread on his blanket. “I’m alright, I guess,” he retorted, his voice low.  
  
“Was hoping to see you at the meeting tonight… everyone’s been asking about you,” Ben continued, patting Juice’s arm gently.  
  
“Wasn’t feeling up to it… just got back from the shrink…” Juice mumbled, resumed pulling at the loose thread.  
  
“So you went to see Dr. Knowles?” he asked, turning to look at Chibs, for confirmation.  
  
“Aye,” Chibs affirmed, striding towards the pair. He took a seat on the other side of Juice, possessively placing a hand on Juice’s leg.  
  
“Given everything… do you think it’s a great idea for you to be staying alone right now, JC?” Ben asked quietly.  
  
“I’m not staying alone,” Juice replied, shaking his head. “Filip’s gonna stay with me for a little while.” He turned his head, facing Chibs. “Right?”  
  
“Aye,” he agreed, nodding.  
  
“That’s good. I’m glad,” Ben replied, smiling.  
  
The three exchanged looks as they heard a knock at the door. “More guests?” Chibs asked, brows raised.  
  
“Elle, probably,” Ben replied, rising to his feet. “I’ll get it.”  
  
Juice sighed, hands trembling slightly as he continued to fiddle with the loose thread.  
  
“Ye alright?” Chibs asked, lightly brushing his fingers across Juice’s knuckles. “If ye aren’t feelin’ up for visitors, I’ll tell ‘em all to piss off.”  
  
Juice laughed, lips curled into a small grin. “I know you would, too. It’s okay, though. They’re worried. I kind of went off the grid… then all _this_ happened,” he said lowly, gesturing towards himself. “Probably afraid they’re gonna find me with a needle in my arm,” he continued. “I’d be the same way if one of them relapsed.”  
  
Chibs frowned. “Ye didn’t use, though… did you? I thought ye were jus’ drinking.”  
  
“Alcohol is a drug, too. Taking any substance is considered a relapse,” Juice retorted, shrugging.  
  
“What did I tell you? Elle and Marya are here,” Ben called out, ushering in two young women, a blonde and a brunette, into the room.  
  
“JC, how are you feeling, sweetheart?” the blonde asked, rushing over to Juice and pulling him into a tight embrace.  
  
“I’m okay, Elle,” he said lowly, hugging her back.  
  
She shot him a disbelieving look. “I feel horrible, okay? But I’ll be alright. One day at a time, right?” Juice retorted, sighing heavily.  
  
“We were so worried about you, JC. I wish you would have called one of us before you picked up,” she said sadly, pressing a kiss to his temple. “But you’ll get through this. God knows I’ve had to.”  
  
She strode towards Ben and the brunette, lacing her fingers through the brunette’s. “Shall I put on a pot of coffee?” she asked, looking to Juice for confirmation.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, shrugging. He turned to glance at Chibs, hesitantly placing his hand over the older man’s. “Would you mind putting the kettle on, too? I’m pretty sure I’ve got a box of tea somewhere in my pantry,” he continued, addressing the last part to Chibs.  
  
Elle glanced at Filip, as if only just then aware of his presence. “Who’s _that_?” she asked, nodding in Filip’s direction.  
  
“That’s _Filip_ ,” Ben noted, shooting the blonde a knowing look.  
  
The brunette beside her frowned, a quizzical expression on her face. “Filip? JC’s Filip?”  
  
“Yeah,” Elle hissed, jabbing her in the ribs. “Shh.”  
  
Chibs rose to his feet, unnerved by the curious stares he was receiving. “Think I’ll have a smoke,” he announced to no one in particular, grabbing his pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket before shuffling out of the apartment.

* * *

“Way to be subtle, guys,” Ben scoffed, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Sorry, I was just surprised, is all. Didn’t think you went for older guys, JC,” Marya replied, shrugging.  
  
“Besides, what the hell is he doing here? I thought he lived in California?” Elle queried, frowning. “You didn’t pick up because of _him_ , did you?”  
  
“No,” Juice snapped, frowning. “That was my own fuck up. Don’t pin this on him.”  
  
“I called him,” Ben offered. “You want to go put that coffee on, Elle, or should I?”  
  
“Can you do it? I have _got_ to know the rest of this story,” Elle replied breezily, motioning for Marya to join her on the couch.  
  
“So that’s your ex?” she asked, looking to Juice for confirmation.  
  
“We were never together like that, Elle,” Juice retorted dismissively. “I’ve told you that.”  
  
Elle rolled her eyes. “How long were you two screwing?”  
  
“We only fucked a handful of times… it wasn’t like that, we were just… we _clicked_ , you know?” he replied, struggling to find the right words to explain _whatever_ it was he had with Chibs.  
  
“Are you sure that he’s someone who you should be around right now, given the circumstances?”  
  
Juice glared at her. Admittedly, he had told her a couple of times, offhandedly, that Chibs drank. Heavily. She’d also been privy to some of the darker elements of his and Chibs’ relationship, things he’d said while working his steps in meetings. Still, she didn’t _know_ him, didn’t know the full scope of their relationship. “Yes, I do,” he said sharply.  
  
Elle sighed, staring at him with one perfectly shaped eyebrow risen. “I _mean_ do you think that now is the time to be trying to rekindle your relationship, when your sobriety is so unstable?”  
  
“I’m not trying to rekindle anything, Elle,” Juice retorted impatiently. “I’m sick and I’m trying to get my head back on straight. I stopped taking my meds. I’m not… I’m not good on my own, not when I’m like this. It’ll be good, having Filip here. He’s going to stay with me for a little while. He’s-”  
  
Juice closed his mouth, gaze focused on Chibs as he re-entered the apartment, watching him intently as he returned his cigarettes to his coat pocket, wandered towards the kitchen.  
  
“You’ve got it bad, kid,” Marya teased, smirking.  
  
Juice glanced down at his lap, cheeks flushed.

* * *

“So wha’ exactly was the little brunette in there inferrin’ when she said mah name?” Chibs asked pointedly, joining Ben in the kitchen.  
  
“Just inferring that you’re JC’s friend Filip from California,” Ben replied, avoiding Chibs’ grave stare by busying himself with pouring mugs of coffee. “I found some tea in the cupboard above the stove. Hope you don’t mind English Breakfast.”  
  
Chibs made a face but nodded, procuring the box from the cupboard, slowly preparing himself a cup of tea.  
  
“What did Juicy tell _you_ about me?” he pressed, adding two teaspoons of sugar to his tea.  
  
Ben sighed. “Nothing really, just the basics… He said you guys were really close. That you were in the MC together…”  
  
“Of all people, why’d you call _me_ when he was drinkin’?”  
  
Ben froze mid-pour, taken aback by the statement. “I…”  
  
Chibs stared down the younger man, a single eyebrow raised. “Seems a strange choice… why call a stranger ye never met when you’ve got plenty o’ people from your meetings or whatever to come help ye handle Juicy. Blondie in there seems personally offended she wasn’ the first tae know wha’ was goin’ on.”  
  
“You mean a lot to him…” Ben said quietly, resuming pouring mugs of coffee. “We love JC and care about him, but we don’t have that history with him. Not like you do. I don’t think anyone can give JC what he needs right now _except_ you.”  
  
“An’ what d’ye mean by tha’?”  
  
Ben returned his stare, folding his arms across his chest. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”  
  
“He told ye then, I presume?” Chibs asked, sighing.  
  
“Bits and pieces. He’s still in love with you.”  
  
“I dunnae abou’ all that. Besides, Juicy’s love life isn’ wha’ matters at the moment. Gettin’ his head back on straight is. I’m here to help him get himself sorted out… I’m not here to make things any more complicated for him. Aye?”  
  
“Why do you call him that? Juice?” Ben asked, curiously.  
  
“That’s what he’s always been tae me. Old nickname from his old life, I guess. Can’t wrap my head around this JC thing. He’ll always be Juicy to me,” Chibs retorted, shrugging.  
  
“Fair enough. Want to give me a hand with all these?” Ben asked, nodding at the mugs of coffee.  
  
“Sure,” he agreed, grabbing one of the mugs along with his tea and following Ben back into the living room.  
  
He handed Juice the coffee, settling back onto the couch beside the younger man. Stiffly, he took a sip of his tea, ignoring the pointed stares coming from the two women.  
  
“So… how long have you known JC for, Filip?” the blonde asked, gazing at him over the rim of her coffee mug as she took a sip.  
  
“Hm… I dunnae, it’s been years, now. Well over a decade,” he replied. “How old were you when ye started hangin’ around the clubhouse?” he asked, glancing at Juice.  
  
“Twenty-three,” Juice replied, taking a deep sip of his coffee.  
  
“Christ, it’s been tha’ long? Thirteen years, then,” Chibs said, shaking his head.  
  
“Where are you from? Your accent, I mean,” the brunette asked. “I’m Marya, by the way. Elle’s partner.”  
  
“I’m Scots,” Chibs replied.  
  
“At least you didn’t ask him if he was English. He _hates_ that,” Juice teased.   
  
Chibs rolled his eyes, took a sip of his tea. “Bad enough ye have me drinkin’ this swill, Juicy. Couldnae get some _real_ tea?” he asked, smirking.  
  
Juice smiled back, grazing his free hand against Chibs’. “At least I had tea. I know how fond you are of coffee.”  
  
“Have you ever been to New York before, Filip?” Elle asked, pulling Chibs’ attention from Juice back to the visitors present.  
  
“Nah. Only been out west since I came here,” he retorted, shrugging.  
  
“You’ll have to give him the grand tour of New York, JC. It’s an amazing city,” Elle said brightly, taking a sip of her coffee.  
  
“Spoken like a true transplant,” Marya scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my girlfriend, she’s still very much in her ‘I love New York’ phase. Give it a few more years, the sheen will come off real quick.”

* * *

“You think you’ll be up to hit a meeting tomorrow?” Ben asked, addressing Juice. “I know Saturday isn’t your usual day, but there’s a couple that aren’t too bad.”  
  
Juice shrugged. “I don’t know… I haven’t even gotten around to calling John yet. I’m dreading his lecture.”  
  
Chibs shot him a quizzical look. “My sponsor… he’s tough. Been clean twenty five years. Doesn’t put up with anyone’s shit… he kind of reminds me of Clay… he’s going to be so disappointed,” Juice explained, sighing heavily.  
  
“Refocus and work your program. One day at a time, man,” Ben replied, patting Juice on the shoulder. “You’ll get through it.”  
  
“We should all hit a meeting tomorrow. We could go to Recovery on the Rock. That’s a good one,” Elle suggested.  
  
“You could come too, Filip. Marya comes with me to meetings on the weekends, sometimes. We’ll make sure we go to an open meeting.”  
  
Chibs shrugged noncommittally, focusing his gaze on Juice, who’s eyes were drooping. He frowned; lad looked exhausted. Seemed even coffee hadn’t helped perk him up much. Besides, he hadn’t gotten a chance to get Juicy fed since his friends had shown up and made themselves at home. He frowned, crossing his arms against his chest. _Hopefully they’ll fuck off soon_.  
  
Juice shrugged. “Maybe,” he sighed. “I’ll let you know how I’m feeling.”  
  
“Any other plans for the weekend?” Ben asked.  
  
Juice shook his head no. “Nah. I’m getting back on my meds so I’m gonna take the weekend to readjust. Probably a good idea to just keep it low-key,” he retorted, stifling a yawn.  
  
“I’m thinkin’ we should maybe call it a night,” Chibs interjected, shooting Juice’s friends a pointed look.  
  
“Oh, of course,” Elle said suddenly, jumping to her feet.  
  
Chibs observed as the trio scurried towards the kitchen, depositing their now-empty coffee mugs into the kitchen before returning back to the living room. “Let us know about tomorrow?” Elle asked, sweeping in and pressing another kiss to Juice’s cheek.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” he agreed, nodding.  
  
“It was nice to meet you, Filip,” she said, smiling at Chibs. “Maybe we’ll see you at a meeting or two while you’re in town.”  
  
Chibs nodded politely, muttering a _likewise_ in response to her statement.  
  
“Let us know how you’re doing, please?” Elle pressed, shooting Juice a pleading look. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out.”  
  
“I think Filip’s got it covered. JC is in good hands,” Ben interjected, placing a firm hand on the blonde’s shoulder.  
  
“Have a good night, guys,” he continued, nodding at the pair as he began to usher the two women towards the front door.  
  
“Night,” the two called out, watching as the trio exited the apartment.  
  
“Thanks,” Juice said quietly, resting his head on Chibs’ shoulder.  
  
“Looked like ye’d had enough of their company for one night,” Chibs replied, patting Juice’s knee. “How ye feeling?”  
  
“Exhausted,” Juice replied, yawning. “I think I could sleep a solid eighteen hours and that still wouldn’t be enough.”  
  
“Feel up to eatin’ a bite?” Chibs asked.  
  
Juice shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t know,” he murmured, lowering his head.  
  
“Somethin’ wrong, lad?”  
  
He shrugged, shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know. Probably _should_ try and keep _something_ down,” he said finally, placing his hand over Chibs’.  
  
“I think ye have cereal in the pantry. I’m not touchin’ that almond milk ye got in the fridge, but yer welcome to it if that’s the sort of shite yer eatin’ these days,” Chibs replied, laughing.  
  
“Cereal would be good,” Juice nodded, shooting Chibs a grateful look.  
  
“Chibby?”  
  
“Aye?”  
  
“Thanks. For coming… for agreeing to stay with me while I’m… like this. It.. it means a lot.”  
  
Chibs smiled at the younger man fondly, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Anythin’ for you, lad.”


	8. Chapter 8

Juice woke with a start, disoriented. He glanced to his left, finding Chibs noticeably absent. _Did I just hallucinate all of that?_ he thought, frowning. He lay curled up on his side for a while, silently weighing the pros and cons of getting up. Though he certainly felt better physically than he did the day before, he still felt bogged down by the crushing weight of the depressive episode he was in. Sighing heavily, he dragged himself out of bed. He tossed his sweat-slicked wifebeater to the floor, not bothering with changing because _why bother_ , he was all alone. Groggily, he shuffled out of the bedroom, in desperate need of a cup of coffee.  
  
“Mornin’,” Chibs said, glancing up from his newspaper to greet the younger man.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Juice asked, frozen in shock at the sight of Chibs in his kitchen. “I thought I was hallucinating or something, you being here.”  
  
“Don’t be daft, boy. Course I’m here. Stayin’ with you a while, aye?” Chibs retorted, smirking. “Put coffee on for ye. Can’t promise it’ll be any good, though,” he added, holding up his own mug of tea.  
  
Juice nodded, made his way to the coffeemaker, where he quickly poured himself a mug.   
  
“Got yer meds set out for ye,” Chibs added, nodding towards the glass of water and Dixie cup set beside the coffee maker.   
  
Juice nodded, reaching for the Dixie cup. He carefully examined the contents, surprised to find three pills. “Wait, why is there fluoxetine here?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “I take that in the afternoon.”  
  
“Doc increased yer dosage, Juicy. Figured it’d be easier on ye if I kept track of that for ye.”  
  
“You don’t have to do that… get my meds out for me. I’m not some pathetic invalid,” Juice retorted, frowning.   
  
Chibs frowned, rising to his feet. “I know this can’t be easy for ye, Juicy. Just tryin’ to make it easier on ye,” he told the younger man, pulling him into a loose embrace.  
  
Juice smiled, hugging him back. “Thanks,” he said lowly, inhaling Chibs’ familiar scent. “I’m glad you’re here… I… I missed you.”  
  
Chibs smirked, pressing a kiss to the younger man’s forehead. “Take your meds,” he said fondly, returning to his seat at the kitchen table.  
  
Juice obeyed, quickly swallowing down his morning meds. “I forgot she increased the dosage of the fluoxetine. It’s probably a good idea for you to handle dispensing meds for a little while,” he conceded, shrugging.  
  
“Alright, lad. C’mon, yer coffee’s gettin’ cold.”  
  
He joined Chibs at the table, gratefully taking a long sip of the warm beverage. “Not too bad,” he told Chibs, smiling slightly. “You’ve gotten better at making it.”  
  
Chibs nodded, putting the newspaper down. He eyed Juice carefully, his brows knit with concern as he continued to stare at him. Juice glanced down, suddenly aware that he was shirtless, putting the full extent of his injuries sustained in prison on display. He rose to his feet, self consciously wrapping his arms around himself. “I should get changed,” he muttered, pointedly avoiding Chibs’ gaze.  
  
“Juicy,” Chibs countered, rising to his feet as well.   
  
Juice froze as Chibs wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. “I guess now you know,” he muttered, words muffled as he pressed his face against the older man’s shoulder.  
  
“We all have scars, Juice. Still as pretty a lad as the day I met ye,” Chibs laughed, callused fingers rubbing the back of Juice’s neck.   
  
Juice muttered something incomprehensible, leaning into the older man’s touch. “I should take a shower,” he said finally, arms still carefully wrapped around himself.  
  
“Go on, then,” Chibs replied, nodding. “We’ll go to the market when you’re ready.”

* * *

Chibs frowned as he heard a knock at the door. _A tad early for Ben to be coming ‘round_. Sighing, he rose to his feet, making his way to the door. As he had the night before, he opened the door a crack, shooting the individual on the other side a suspicious look. “Help ye?” he growled, frowning.  
  
“I’m JC’s sponsor, John. He around?”   
  
Chibs observed the man at the door a moment, taking in his gruff appearance. He appeared to be in his mid sixties, gray hair cropped short. “Lad’s in the shower. Suppose ye want to come in?” he asked.  
  
The man nodded, following Chibs into the apartment. “You’re Filip,” the older man noted, matter of factly. “JC’s told me about you.”  
  
Chibs nodded, taken aback by the man’s forwardness. “There’s coffee on,” Chibs offered, motioning towards the half-full carafe.   
  
The man nodded, effortlessly pouring himself a mug of it before joining Chibs at the kitchen table. “S’pose you already heard he-”  
  
“Yeah. Ben told me at the meeting last night. Already knew it, though,” John replied, shaking his head.  
  
“How?”  
  
“Kid’s been withdrawn, not working his program. After I didn’t hear from him for a week and a half, I knew it was inevitable, he’d picked up, again,” he retorted, shrugging.  
  
Chibs nodded, taking a sip of his tea. He could see what Juice meant about John reminding him of Clay; the man certainly had the ex MC president’s temperament and concise manner of speaking.   
  
“You do a sweep of the apartment?” he asked, eyeing Chibs sternly.  
  
“I got rid of the beer he had left,” he retorted, shrugging.   
  
John frowned. “You’ll want to take a look around, make sure he doesn’t have anything else salted away.”  
  
Chibs nodded, making a mental note to look through Juice’s bedroom drawers to make sure he hadn’t hidden anything there.  
  
“You check his arms?”  
  
Chibs shook his head, brow furrowed. “He said he didn’t shoot up-”  
  
“Addicts lie. It’s in our nature,” he interrupted, taking a gulp of his coffee.   
  
“He wouldn’t lie to me. Not about that.”  
  
John shook his head. “Son, we both know that ain’t true. He lied to you plenty before.”  
  
Chibs sighed, nodding in defeat. “S’pose ye have a point abou’ tha’.” He stared down into his mug of tea, biting down on his lower lip.  
  
“How’d ye know who I was, anyway? Ben tell ye?” he asked, glancing up at the older man.  
  
He shook his head. “I’m the kid’s sponsor… course I’ve heard plenty about you. Your name’s come up plenty of times during our chats, JC working his steps.”  
  
Chibs nodded, lips pressed firmly together. “I see.”  
  
“When’d you get to town?” the man asked, curious.  
  
“Yesterday. Tryin’ to get Juicy settled some. Took him to see his doctor. He went off his meds, dunnae if ye were aware o’ tha’.”  
  
The man nodded, frowning. “Explains a lot. He start taking them again?”  
  
Chibs nodded. “Yeah. Got his first dosage in this morning. I’m gonnae be stayin’ with him for a while, makin’ sure he gets himself stabilized. His doc didn’t want him alone while he’s readjusting to ‘em.”  
  
The man nodded. “Good. That’s good.”  
  
The two sat in silence for several minutes, each sipping their respective beverage. “He missed you, a lot. I’m sure he’s glad to have you here.”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
Chibs rose to his feet as he heard the sound of running water cease. “I s’pose I’ll let him know you’re here.”  
  
Chibs rapped lightly on the bathroom door. “Juicy. Yer sponsor is here. Wants to have a word with ye, eh?”  
  
He frowned as he heard the younger man sigh from the opposite side of the door. “Okay,” Juice replied lowly. “Just give me a minute to get changed and I’ll be out.”  
  
Chibs returned to the kitchen, where he began fiddling with the kettle once more. _Could really use somethin’ stronger right abou’ now_. “He’ll be out in a few,” he offered, busying himself with fixing a fresh cup of tea. He returned to the table, where he stared down at his cup, sitting in awkward silence.  
  
At last, Juice entered the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, which appeared to be a size or two too big. “Hey,” he said quietly, nodding at his sponsor before pouring himself a cup of coffee. He took a seat beside Chibs at the table, fingers trembling slightly as he brought the mug to his lips. “So… I guess you heard,” he said shakily, gaze focused on the table.  
  
“Roll your sleeves up, arms out,” John ordered, shooting Juice a firm look.  
  
Juice paled, glancing from his sponsor to Chibs and back. “I didn’t use. I swear,” he whispered, pleadingly.  
  
“Then you’ll have no problem showing me,” John retorted, shrugging.  
  
Juice sighed, lowering his head. “I didn’t… _he’s_ never seen the…” he trailed off, shooting his sponsor a pleading look.  
  
John sighed, nodded in understanding. “You mind giving us a moment, Filip?” he asked, addressing Chibs.  
  
“Aye,” he affirmed, patting Juice’s knee before rising from his seat, mug of tea in hand. “I’ll just be in the living room, then,” he offered, wandering out of the room.

* * *

Juice sighed heavily, blinking back tears he was barely aware had begun to form.   
  
John shot him a questioning look.  
  
Juice shrugged, slowly rolled his sleeves up holding out his inner forearms for his sponsor to examine. “There, happy now?” he asked, lips curled into a scowl.  
  
“If you didn’t use, why didn’t you want him to see?” he asked, a single brow raised.  
  
“He’s never seen the scars… from the track marks,” Juice retorted, glaring at his arms. His lips curled into a twisted mess as he examined the mess of scarring along the crooks of both arms, down his left forearm, a testament to the abuse he’d put his body through. He frowned at the sight, acutely aware of each and every mark, even the ones that had faded to near invisibility with time. He remembered them all, the position of them seared into his memory.   
  
“He knew you were shooting up, though.”  
  
“Yeah. But not when we were…” he paused, the word _together_ hanging off the tip of his tongue. “I didn’t start shooting it until I was locked up. When we were still close, I was mostly just fucking with pills. You know, Oxy. Percs.”  
  
“Why are you afraid for him to see them?”  
  
“I’m not afraid,” Juice retorted, frowning. “I just…” he trailed off, shrugging. “It’s ugly. I don’t want him to be disgusted by me.”  
  
John’s brows rose, but he said nothing. “So you picked up. How long you got under your belt now sober?”  
  
Juice shrugged. “I guess twenty-four hours,” he replied, sighing heavily.  
  
“You committed to staying sober?”  
  
“Yeah. I don’t want to go back to all that,” he replied, frowning.  
  
“Alright then, son. I know you did things _your_ way the last time, yet here we are. You ready to do things my way?”  
  
Juice shrugged. “Do I have a choice?”  
  
“I want you to attend thirty meetings in thirty days. Write ‘em down, dates and times. Alright?”  
  
Juice shook his head, staring down into his coffee. “That’s asking too much, man. Look. I know I fucked up. I relapsed. I get it. I threw away three years of sobriety. But I’m also severely depressed. I’ve got a lot of fucked up mental shit that I need to work on, too. You know that…If I don’t make that a priority as well, I guarantee I’ll pick up again. Ain’t no way around that. I’ll start working the steps with you again. I’ll go to meetings at least twice a week. Shit, I’ll check in with you daily if that’s what it takes. But this thirty meetings in thirty days shit? Not gonna happen.”  
  
John remained silent, watching as Juice rapped his fingers anxiously against the table, pausing intermittently to take sips of his coffee. “I stopped taking my meds… I guess you already know that. Getting back on them… it’s gonna be bad. I’m going to be a fuckin’ mess and I can’t promise I’ll have it in me to do what you’re askin’ of me, okay? There’s probably gonna be days I won’t even have it in me to leave my bed. You want me to be honest with you, this is me bein’ honest.”  
  
John nodded. “Okay. I’m holdin’ you to your word, JC. I want daily check ins. Even on those days where you don’t leave your bed. Got me?”  
  
Juice nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”  
  
“Do you want to start working the steps again right now, or do you want some time for reflection before we start putting in work?”  
  
Juice frowned. “Do I _really_ have to start over?” he asked, sighing heavily.  
  
“You picked up again. You’re in a different place now than you were when you began recovery, kid. Look at it as an opportunity. You only get out of it what you put in,” John retorted, nodding sternly.  
  
“Okay. Let me take some time before we start working the steps again,” Juice replied, drumming his fingers against the table. “I’ve got to get Filip acquainted with my routine, so he makes sure I follow it when I’m low.”  
  
“He said he’s staying here with you for a while?” John asked.  
  
Juice nodded. “Yeah. He promised he’d stay while I’m like this. He knows I’m not… I’m not good on my own. Not when I’m like this.”  
  
“You sure that’s wise, kid?”  
  
Juice frowned. “What do you mean by that?” he asked lowly, eyes narrowed suspiciously.  
  
“I smelled the whiskey on his breath. Do you think you can stay sober, being around someone who’s not?” John asked pointedly.  
  
Juice shrugged dismissively. “Booze was never my thing, John. I’ve told you that. Filip… he’s strictly a drinker, nothin’ to worry about there. Guy is hard pressed to even take a fuckin’ aspirin. Got prescribed a fuck-ton of oxy after he got fuckin’ blown up by a car bomb and he didn’t even touch the stuff.”  
  
John remained silent, shooting Juice a pointed look.  
  
Juice sighed heavily. “Look. I know the guy’s probably an alcoholic. He’s a fuckin’ Scot who came of age in Ireland, the fuck do you expect? Christ, I know he’s been sneaking sips of whiskey outside. But he’s _trying_. He’s not drinkin’ in front of me. He’s here. He knows me. He makes me feel safe. It feels good, having him here. Can you just let me have this, man?” Juice said, pleadingly.  
  
John sighed, shaking his head. “You’re an adult, JC. I’m not your warden. I’m just trying to keep an eye on you the way I do with all my sponsees. Just keep in mind, you’re back at square one. Your sobriety needs to come first. Got me?”  
  
Juice nodded. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“Get yourself to a meeting, ASAP. You hear me?”  
  
Juice nodded. “I’m going to go with Ben and everyone to one tonight,” he affirmed, taking a sip of coffee.   
  
John nodded. “Alright. I’m sure you’ve got things to take care of, today. Put in the work, JC. You’ve come a long way in three years. Don’t throw away all the progress you’ve made.”  
  
“I won’t,” Juice replied, nodding in response. “I’m trying to get myself straightened out.”  
  
John rose to his feet, put his empty coffee mug in the sink. He strode towards JC, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll get through this, kid. You’ve been through worse, I think we both know that.”  
  
Juice nodded. “Yes, sir.”  
  
“You still seeing your therapist?” he asked.  
  
Juice nodded affirmatively. “Yep. Three times a week, for the time being. Until I’m more stable.”  
  
“She know about your relapse?”   
  
Juice nodded. “Yeah. Filip told her.”  
  
John’s eyebrows rose, but he said nothing. “You working on that side of things with her, too?”  
  
Juice nodded. “Yeah. Still working through the addiction stuff with her. In addition to everything else.”  
  
John nodded. “Alright, kid. I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you and your _friend_ have plenty to take care of today. What meeting you think you’ll hit?”  
  
Juice shrugged. “Elle wants to go to Recovery on the Rock. We’ll probably wind up there.”  
  
“I’ll see you there.”  
  
Juice nodded, rising to his feet. “Thanks for comin’ to check on me,” he said lowly, lowering his head.  
  
John shrugged. “Comes with the territory. I’ll leave you and your boy to it,” he retorted, smirking.  
  
“It’s not even like that,” Juice retorted, rolling his eyes. “I told you we weren’t-”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m sure, JC. None of my business. I’ll see you at six.”


	9. Chapter 9

Juice silently trudged along beside Chibs as they made their way through the local grocery store, Chibs making a valiant effort to keep things casual, offering a constant stream of idle chit-chat despite the fact that Juice hadn’t so much as responded to anything he’d said in almost a half hour. He sighed heavily, flinching as he felt Chibs’ hand on his arm, guiding him towards whatever new direction they were headed in the store.   
  
“Juice.”  
  
Juice frowned, unsure whether or not he was being addressed.   
  
“Juicy… you want to go home, lad?” Chibs asked, this time placing a hand on the younger man’s arm, turning to face him.  
  
Juice nodded, ducking his head down, ashamed. “Yeah,” he agreed lowly. “Sorry.”  
  
“Yer fine, lad. Got ye a few things. We’ll pay and go home, alright?”  
  
Juice nodded, feeling a shiver of relief as Chibs once again placed his hand on his arm, guiding him towards the check out queue. He knew wholeheartedly that there was no way he’d have managed to get this far with a grocery store trip alone, given the state he was in. Fuck, he doubted he’d have even managed to get to the store. He rested his head on Chibs’ shoulder for a moment, overcome with a feeling of drowsiness. _Probably the meds kicking in_. Juice knew that medication took time to really have any effect, that it was likely just a placebo effect, but still… he also knew that the anti-psychotic he was prescribed was a strong drug, and would likely be the first thing to kick in. The last time Dr. Knowles had adjusted his dosage, he’d spent three days straight drifting in and out of consciousness, adjusting to the stronger dose. He blinked several times, digging his ragged fingernails into the palm of his left hand.   
  
“You alright?” Chibs asked lowly, careful to keep his voice down.  
  
Juice shrugged, stared down at his feet. The very thought of attempting to string together words to offer a response was too much for him to even consider. 

* * *

Immediately upon arriving back to the apartment, Juice dragged himself to his bedroom, throwing himself atop his blankets and promptly passing out. Chibs stood in the doorway for a moment, observing him, considering whether or not he should make the lad more comfortable, get him under his blankets and remove his boots. He frowned, recalling that the boy was prone to fits of violent rage when he was in a state. _Best to leave him to it_. He returned to the kitchen, tasked with putting away the groceries. Once finished, he put on a kettle for tea, absently fiddling with his phone while he waited for the water to boil. As he prepared his cup of tea, his phone began to ring. He answered, holding the phone to his ear with one hand while he continued to steep his tea with the other. “Lo?” he answered.  
  
“How’s everything going, prez? Hap said you’re handling family shit… wanted to see how you’re doing,” Tig replied, his voice coming out somewhat distorted from the shitty cell connection.  
  
“Doin’ alright, Tig. Just handlin’ shite, ye know?” he replied, tossing the spent tea bag into the garbage, grabbing his cup and taking a long sip.  
  
“Is it your kid?” Tig pressed, sounding concerned.  
  
“Nah. Kerrianne is fine, Tiggy. Jus’ taking care of some family shite. The girls are fine.”  
  
“Where are you, anyway? Connection’s better than it usually is when you’re overseas…” Tig noted.  
  
Chibs froze, sighing heavily. _Fuck._  
  
“Chibs? You alright, brother?” Tig asked.  
  
Chibs sighed, removed an airplane bottle of whiskey from his stash in his coat pocket, swigging it down in one gulp. “Yeah, I’m fine, Tig.”  
  
“You kinda stopped talking for almost five minutes, Chibby. You sure you’re alright handling whatever it is you’re doing alone? We could send one of the guys out, if you want. Not really a smart idea, having our prez out alone, is it?”  
  
“Not exactly a high risk club anymore, are we, Trager?” Chibs snapped, his temper getting the best of him. “I’m fine. I don’t need any of ye babysitting me.”  
  
“What exactly are you doing that you can’t just tell the club about?”  
  
“What do ye mean by that?”  
  
“I thought we were done with all this keeping secrets from the table shit, prez. Thought we all had nothin’ to hide,” Tig pressed.  
  
Chibs sighed, considered his options. While it wasn’t his place, not really, to tell Tig what he was up to, the guy had a point… they’d agreed to cut out all the secrecy crap in the club. “I’m handling some shite with Juice,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.   
  
_Silence._  
  
“You’re shittin’ me, right?” Tig asked, laughing.  
  
_Silence._  
  
“Chibs… you could have just sent Hap to handle him, man. I didn’t even know he was out of the pen, yet.”  
  
“I’m not here to… to do _that_ , Trager. Christ. Club never voted Mayhem, you know that as well as I do.”  
  
“Doesn’t mean the kid doesn’t deserve lead between his eyes,” Tig countered.  
  
Chibs’ jaw clenched in anger. “Strong words comin’ from someone who killed a Son’s wife,” he retorted coolly. “The kid made a mistake. If anything, we failed him more than he did us.”  
  
Chibs heard the sound of a lighter flicking, Tig inhaling. He shook his head. _If he’s smoking, he must be angry_. Tig had quit smoking years ago, he only lit up when he was on edge. “So if you aren’t _wherever_ you are to kill him, then what the fuck are you doing?”  
  
Chibs sighed heavily, ran his free hand through his hair. _Jesus Christ, I’m sorry I told him_. “This is why I was tryin’ to keep it to meself, Tig,” he started, pacing the kitchen. “I’m not here on club business. Just… doin’ somethin’ I need tae do. Got it?”  
  
“You sure you know what you’re getting into, Chibs? Kid knows you’ve always had a soft spot for him… could be leadin’ you into a trap, tryin’ to get revenge for the shit that went down in the end with Jax,” Tig replied, sounding concerned.  
  
Chibs laughed, reached for another bottle of whiskey from his coat. “It’s Juicy we’re talkin’ about, Tiggy. That sound like the lad at all?”  
  
“Never thought he’d be a rat, but he was,” Tig countered.  
  
“We’re not doin’ this now. You want to have it out about him when I get back, then by all means. He’s not… I need to be here, right now. I don’t have time for this shite.”  
  
“Chibs… you sure about this, man?”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
Tig sighed. “I dunno man… I just think the whole thing is a little sketchy…” he trailed off.  
  
Chibs strode towards the doorway, making his way outside, to the street. He stood on the sidewalk,fumbling with one hand to remove a cigarette from his pack.  
  
“Chibs? You still there, man?” Tig asked.  
  
“Tell Hap to fill you in on the details. You don’t know the whole story about this, and I don’t have time tae tell it. Kid needs help right now. You know he’s got no one,” Chibs replied, words muffled as he lit the cigarette, inhaling deeply.   
  
“He in a bad way?” Tig asked, sounding genuinely concerned.   
  
Chibs frowned, imagining the look that was probably on Trager’s face at the moment. Tig was aware of Juice’s mental health issues, had witnessed more than a few of his depressive episodes. “Yeah. He’s not in a good place right now, Tig. He needs someone to stay with him for a little while, keep an eye on him. They’ll throw him into one of those psych wards otherwise.”  
  
“You don’t want him to wind up there,” Tig replied, speaking from personal experience. “A kid like Juicy… not a good place for someone like him.”  
  
Chibs remained silent, took another drag off his cigarette. At least, he heard Tig sighing on the other end of the line. “Does he hate the club for what happened?” he asked.  
  
“No. If anything, I think he’s still afraid the club wants him dead,” he retorted, his tone a bit harsher than he’d intended.  
  
“It was a bad time for all of us… I guess I forgot that we were never too forgiving of the kid’s mistakes. Makes sense he didn’t trust that we’d listen if he came to us with all that shit with Roosevelt and everything, “ Tig continued. “We treated him like a prospect with a patch. Kind of fucked, looking back on it.”  
  
Chibs said nothing in response, took another drag off his cigarette.   
  
“He try to off himself or somethin’?” Tig asked.  
  
Chibs frowned, inhaled sharply. Just the thought of finding Juice after an attempt again stung. “No. It’s… it’s a long story, Tig. Not really even mine to tell. Kid’s suicidal. Can’t be left to his own devices. Let’s leave it at that, aye?”  
  
“Shit,” Tig swore, sighing once more. “Alright. I guess I’ll leave you to it. Hey prez?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Let us… let us know how the kid’s doing, alright?”  
  
“Will do, Tiggy.”

* * *

“Hey, Juicy. Time to wake up, yeah?”  
  
Juice groaned, shifted to his side as he pulled the covers over his head. “Mmmmgh,” he mumbled, burrowing his face deeper into his pillow.  
  
“Need tae take yer afternoon meds, lad,” Chibs continued, shaking Juice’s shoulder a lot more gently than Juice thought the man capable of.   
  
Juice relented, rolled onto his back, allowing Chibs to pull the covers down. “You still want to lie down some?” Chibs asked.   
  
“What time is it?” Juice asked, stifling a yawn. _Fuck_ , he was still exhausted, despite what he presumed was an hours long nap.  
  
“Quarter to four,” Chibs replied, checking his phone. “Ye feelin’ any better?”  
  
Juice froze, smelling the familiar scent of whiskey on the older man’s breath. _Guess he threw a few back while I was passed out_ , he thought miserably, biting down on his lower lip.  
  
“Juicy?”  
  
“Yeah, I guess,” he said finally, shrugging. “I guess let’s get on with it,” he continued, dragging himself out of bed.  
  
He followed Chibs to the kitchen, where he slumped down at the table while Chibs procured his medication. “Think I can have a xanax?” he asked, staring down at his lap.  
  
“Ye need one?” Chibs asked, eyeing him worriedly.  
  
“Yeah… I’m feeling a little anxious about havin’ to face everyone at the meeting,” he admitted, rubbing his chest lightly with his right hand, silently willing his heart-rate to decrease.   
  
“Course,” Chibs retorted, handing Juice a glass of water and a Dixie cup containing two pills.  
  
Obediently, Juice swallowed his medication down. “Sorry I passed out on you,” he said lowly, avoiding Chibs’ gaze as he joined him at the table, mug of tea in hand.  
  
“Not exactly here on a social visit, Juicy. It’s okay. You’re not feelin’ like yourself,” the older man retorted, shrugging. “Ye need tae take care of yourself. If that means sleeping, then that’s what ye need to do.”  
  
Juice nodded. “Thanks.”  
  
“Ye want somethin’ tae eat?”  
  
Juice shook his head. “Nah… I figured I’ll probably grab a bite with everyone after the meeting.”  
  
Chibs shot him a suspicious look. “That’s what we usually do after meetings on the weekend. Not like we can go to the bar after… ha,” he elaborated, with fake cheer.  
  
“Good point,” Chibs retorted, shrugging. “S’pose ye can’t.”  
  
The two sat in comfortable silence while Juice scrolled through his phone, sending a few texts. At last, he cleared his throat. “Listen. I think I’m just gonna hit the meeting tonight with Ben… you’ve been looking after me since you got here… you don’t need to get dragged along. I know this isn’t exactly your _scene_ ,” he said lowly, avoiding Chibs’ gaze.  
  
“If that’s what you want, lad,” Chibs retorted, shrugging.  
  
“It’s not that I don’t want… I just figured you’re probably the last guy who wants to be spendin’ his Saturday night in a church basement at an NA meeting, is all,” Juice elaborated, tapping his fingers nervously against the kitchen table.  
  
Chibs observed the younger man a moment, taking in his nervous appearance. _Probably doesn’t want me to hear whatever he’s gonnae be confessin’ tonight, or whatever the fuck they do at those things. Probably a good time to check to make sure he doesn’t have anything hidden_. “Could probably use a quick kip. Only got a few hours sleep last night,” he retorted, careful to keep his expression neutral.  
  
“Still got the insomnia?” Juice asked.  
  
Chibs shrugged. “Somethae like that. I manage fine. Get a few hours here an’ there.”  
  
“I’m tellin’ you, man. Smoking a bowl before bed would put you _out_. You’ve got to go see the girls at Clear Passages when you get back home. They’ll hook it up, get you somethin’ that’ll help,” Juice replied, grinning.   
  
Chibs’ right eyebrow shot up. “Ye still talk to them?”  
  
“Yeah, I still own my share. Get my check every month,” Juice replied, still grinning smugly.  
  
“Wouldae thought you’d have sold ‘em, seein’ as ye got sober,” Chibs noted.  
  
“Weed is natural. Fuck that shit, man,” Juice snorted, shaking his head. “I don’t smoke anymore, but that’s more of a personal choice than anything else.”  
  
“Thought weed was a _drug_ , Juicy?” Chibs asked, smirking.  
  
The younger man rolled his eyes. “My problem’s heroin, not fuckin’ weed. Jesus Christ.”  
  
“So why don’t ye smoke, anymore, then?”  
  
Juice shrugged. “These guys in recovery are pretty serious about staying off all substances. I don’t fully agree with everything in the program, but my sponsor is old school. He told me there’s some things you just need to shut up and not question because this is the way to stay sober. It might not be fun, but it works.”  
  
Chibs nodded in response. “Makes sense,” he retorted, in what he hoped was a supportive tone. He personally thought NA and all that was a crock of shite, but if it helped the lad… he could get behind anything that could help Juicy boy keep himself safe and healthy and whole.   
  
Juice opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by knocking at the door. “That’s Ben,” he offered, rising to his feet.  
  
Chibs followed suit, trailing Juice to the door. He watched as Juice let the young man into the apartment, offering Ben a nod in recognition.   
  
“How’s he holding up?” Ben asked, once Juice had slipped out of the room to grab his wallet and put on his shoes.  
  
“Alright. Slept most of the afternoon… the meds knocked him out,” Chibs retorted, frowning. “You’ll keep an eye on him, get him home if it seems like he’s fading?” he asked.  
  
Ben blinked, confused. “You’re not coming to the meeting?”  
  
“Nah,” Chibs replied, shrugging. “Lad doesnae want me there, seems like.”  
  
Ben nodded slightly, lowered his gaze. “You okay with that?”  
  
Again, Chibs shrugged. “His business, not my own. S’pose he’s got things he needs tae talk about, seein’ as he went on a bender. If it’s easier on him if I’m not there listening, that’s fine.”  
  
“What makes you think that?” Ben asked, confused.  
  
“Told me to piss off while he spoke to his sponsor this morning.”  
  
“John came round?”  
  
”Aye. Told Juicy to roll up his sleeves an’ show him his arms. Tha’ got the lad all buggy,” Chibs continued, shaking his head. “Dunnae why.”  
  
Ben frowned, biting down on his lower lip. “You weren’t talkin’ to him anymore when he was using, were you?” he asked.  
  
“Nah. He said he didn’t start shooting shit until he was locked up in Stockton.”  
  
Ben sighed heavily. “Look. He’s tryin’ to reestablish his sobriety. Shit is hard enough as it is. He’ll talk to you abut it when he’s ready,” he elaborated, pausing as Juice reentered the room. “Ready to go, JC?” he asked, addressing Juice.  
  
“Yeah,” Juice replied wearily, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.   
  
“I’ll see ye later,” Chibs told him, shooting the younger man a knowing look.  
  
Juice nodded, leaned in towards him, pausing as he caught sight of Ben. “Yeah, see you,” he said lowly, patting Chibs on the arm before following Ben out the door. 


	10. Chapter 10

Juice lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply. He and Ben had arrived early to the meeting, allowing them time to linger out front and smoke with the other attendees. Juice had attempted to keep a low profile, careful to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up, though his efforts had been for naught. Christ, they’d only been there fifteen minutes, max, and already close to a dozen people had approached him, offering affirmative words and sympathetic looks.   
  
“I’m so glad you came out,” Elle told him, wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing tightly. “Where’s your… _friend_?” she asked, shooting him a curious look.  
  
“Thought he could use a little break from all of… _this_ ,” Juice replied, gesturing around himself.  
  
He turned his attention back to smoking his cigarette, ignoring the worried look the blonde shot towards Ben.   
  
“Give the guy some slack… first meeting after a relapse is hell, you know that.”  
  
Juice mumbled in agreement, taking a deep drag off his cigarette. He exhaled, watching the plume of smoke drift into the wind. _Why did I come here? I don’t want to do this…_  
  
“Ready to go inside?” Ben asked, drawing Juice’s attention.  
  
“Hm, what?” he asked, frowning.   
  
“You wanna head in? Meeting’s gonna start pretty soon… we’ll grab a coffee and find a seat?” Ben elaborated, placing a reassuring hand on Juice’s shoulder.  
  
“Yeah… sounds… sounds good,” Juice affirmed, shooting his friend a grateful look.  
  
He allowed Ben to lead him into the meeting, carefully focusing his gaze on the floor, so as to avoid any unnecessary interaction with anyone he might recognize present. While Ben poured them each a cup of coffee, he stared at his feet, his anxiety levels increasing with each minute that passed. _I can’t do this. I can’t stand up and tell these people that I threw away 3 years sobriety for a shitty drinking binge on crap beer._  
  
“Juice,” Ben said gently, carefully shaking his shoulder to get his attention. “You alright, buddy? You want to take a minute, step outside?”  
  
Juice shook his head no, crumpling his hands into fists to stop them from trembling. “Nah. We’re here. Let’s just do this,” he affirmed, hating the vulnerability he could hear in his own voice.  
  
He allowed Ben to hand him a cup of coffee, appreciating having something to focus on rather than his own anxiety. The heat felt good in his hands, the sensation giving him something solid to focus on. He followed Ben to a seat in the middle of the room, grateful that Ben hadn’t forced him to sit in the front row.  
  
_People who want to get well sit in the front row_ , John had told him early on when he’d first started sponsoring him. While he knew John meant well, and acknowledged that whatever John was doing had certainly worked for _him_ , Juice couldn’t help but resent all of the older man’s NA cliches and sayings.   
  
Juice kept quiet as the meeting began, fidgeting in his seat as he struggled to focus on what the speaker was saying. Ben sat on his left, occasionally placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, in an attempt to help ground him. On his right sat Elle, she and Marya glancing over worriedly at him at regular intervals.   
  
After completing the scheduled reading for the evening, the speaker came to a pause. “Before we hand out chips, is there anyone who would like to share?”  
  
Barely aware that he was doing so, Juice rose to his feet.   
  
The speaker nodded at him, silently motioning for him to proceed.  
  
Juice cleared his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. “My name is JC… I’m an addict.”  
  
“Hi, JC.”  
  
He nodded, nervously shoving his hands into his pockets. “I uh… this is my first meeting since I relapsed. I was sober close to three and a half years… I have major depressive disorder. I started having an episode and didn’t tell anyone. I stopped taking my meds, going to meetings, seeing my shrink and… ha… I found myself on a two day bender drinking Bud Light, alone in my apartment.”  
  
He paused, lips quivering slightly as he struggled to find the words to continue. He glanced over at his friends, who offered him encouraging smiles. Again, he cleared his throat. “I’m ashamed. I thought… I thought I had this down and that I was good but… I stopped making my recovery a priority and I picked back up. I…” he trailed off a moment, frowning.  
  
“I know that my life got better when I got sober. The things I’d seen and done before… I don’t want to go back there. I’m lucky I have friends who were there to pull me out of my relapse before I did something worse… for making me get my ass back to a meeting when it was the last thing I wanted to do… having to own up to the fact that I fucked up and used, again… I guess I just wanted to get that off my chest. Thank you,” he concluded, returning to his seat.   
  
Elle squeezed his arm gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart,” she told him.  
  
Juice breathed a sigh of relief as the meeting resumed, half a dozen other people taking their turns to share. He tried his best to listen, fighting back the wave of exhaustion that threatened to consume him.  
  
He allowed himself to be half-pulled to his feet by Ben, grateful to be flanked on either side by both him and Elle as they joined the others present to form a circle to recite the serenity prayer. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change,” Juice recited, the words seared into his brain from the countless meetings he’d attended since getting sober, “the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”  
  
While he was by no means a spiritual man, Juice couldn’t help but find some consolation in the words. He’d been told more times than he could count by dozens of fellow addicts the concept of grace; while he didn’t necessarily buy in to the biblical definition of the term, he had come to a sort of understanding of what grace meant for him, mostly due to long conversations he’d had about the subject with his therapist. To him, grace went hand in hand with the serenity prayer. Grace was an abstract concept, the notion of forgiving himself for his past sins, accepting that setbacks are inevitable and moving past them, not allowing bumps in the road to derail his progress. _Please, whoever is out there, give me grace to get through this goddamn relapse._

* * *

Once the meeting was adjourned, Juice lingered around with his friends, half-heartedly listening to the others make conversation. Ben, noticing he was fading, quickly procured him another cup of coffee, stepping in to keep the conversation directed away from Juice, as he was decidedly not up for speaking at that point. “If you want to head out, we can go,” Ben told him, eyeing him seriously. “Don’t push yourself. You got yourself to a meeting. And you shared. That’s huge. You should be proud of yourself, buddy.”  
  
Juice nodded, smiling lightly at his friend’s praise. “I’m tryin’ man. I don’t want to go back to where I’ve been.”  
  
“JC.”  
  
JC glanced up, catching sight of his sponsor, John.   
  
“Glad to see you made it out here,” John said, nodding approvingly.  
  
“Getting through the first meeting after a relapse is the hardest part, right?” Juice replied, laughing weakly.  
  
“Where’s your _friend_?” John asked.  
  
“I told him to stay home, get some sleep. I doubt he’s slept since he got here. Guy doesn’t sleep much to begin with…” Juice replied, shrugging.  
  
“Not really his scene, huh?” John asked, seeing right through Juice’s bullshit.  
  
Juice shrugged.  
  
“See you’re not covering up, with him not here,” John noted, nodding at Juice’s rolled up sleeves.  
  
Juice shrugged, heat flaming in his cheeks. “He doesn’t need to see that crap,” he retorted, shaking his head.  
  
“You met JC’s boyfriend?” Elle asked, addressing John.  
  
“Elle,” Ben snapped, shaking his head. “He’s JC’s friend. A very close friend who came across the country to give _our_ friend JC a hand while he’s getting through a rough patch.”  
  
Juice shot him an appreciative look, silently thanking the other man for having his back. The last thing he wanted to discuss with his friends and sponsor was his love life. Or his lack-thereof.   
  
“You doing alright, kid?” John asked, brusquely clapping Juice’s shoulder.  
  
“Yeah,” he agreed weakly, nodding.

* * *

True to his word, Chibs took the opportunity of Juice’s absence from the apartment to search for anything Juice may have hidden away. He’d started with the most obvious spot first, the bathroom. Once he’d found that room clean, he’d made his way methodically through the apartment, overwhelmed with relief with each room he cleared. He’d saved Juice’s bedroom for last. Though the rest of the apartment had proven to be clean, for the sake of being thorough, he began to inspect that, as well.   
  
After nearly a half hour of sorting through all of Juice’s odds and ends, he came across an old shoe box, hidden in the back corner of his closet, on the top shelf. Uneasily, he opened the box, his heart sinking as he saw the contents; three unused syringes, a rubber tourniquet, half a dozen cheap lighters, and a bent, blackened spoon. Chibs rubbed his face vigorously. Shaking his head sadly, he left the open box laying on Juice’s bed, deciding to do a more thorough search of Juice’s apartment. He paced the room for several minutes, racking his brain trying to think of anywhere else he may have hid anything. _Back in the day, he used to hide his stash of pills in his desk at the clubhouse._  
  
Grabbing the box of paraphernalia, he made his way to the room Juice used as a makeshift office/study, carefully inspected the meticulously tidy room. After once again finding nothing in any of the drawers of the desk, he decided to check less obvious places. One by one, he removed the drawers, searching underneath them for anything. To his great disappointment, he found two small plastic baggies taped underneath his top desk drawer. Carefully, he removed them from the surface, throwing them into the shoebox. He recognized the contents immediately, though he was somewhat surprised, and certainly disturbed at the implication of what he’d found. While he wasn’t fazed to discover the heroin hidden, he certainly hadn’t expected to find the baggie of cocaine, as well. _You know damn well why he’d have the two of them hidden away_ , a nagging voice in the back of his head taunted. _Lad wanted a way out, should the occasion arise_. The very thought made the Scot feel sick. Heart heavy, he picked up the box of contraband, dragging himself to the kitchen, to wait.  
  
Wearily, Chibs fixed himself a cup of tea, glancing at the time on the stove. _Wouldae been nice if they’d given me an idea on when they’d be back_. Nervous at the thought of some sort of confrontation, he pulled his phone from his pocket, grateful that he’d had the foresight to save Ben’s number. He sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes, considering what to say, sipping at his tea as he struggled to find the right words. At last, he began to type. _Stop in with Juice when you bring him home… we need to talk._

* * *

Chibs took a swig of scotch straight from the bottle as he stared at the clock on the stove, anxiously waiting for Juice to return home. Distraught over his discovery, he had quickly made a trip to the bodega up the road, buying himself a fifth of Chivas Regal. He’d knocked back a quarter of the bottle on his way back to the apartment. It’d cost him more than he’d like to spend, but he’d decided the purchase well worth it. _After findin’ that shite, Scotch was called for_. Impulsively, he punched a number into his phone, pressing send.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Aye lass. How ye been?” Chibs drawled, taking another swig of drink.  
  
“Chibs? What’s going on? Everything alright with the club?” Wendy asked, sounding concerned.  
  
“Nah… this abou’ club business… needtae talk tae ye abou’ somethin’ more personal in nature,” Chibs retorted, accent thick.  
  
“Such as?”  
  
“Juice.”  
  
The line went silent. “Hello?” Chibs asked, unsure if the line had disconnected.  
  
“W-what about Juice?” Wendy asked, hesitantly.  
  
Chibs sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand. “Lad relapsed.”  
  
“What happened?” Wendy demanded, her voice overcome with emotion. “Is he okay? What happened to him?”  
  
“Gottae call from one o’ his friends here, sayin’ he was drunk. They were worried about ‘im… worried he’d hurt himself. So I came,” Chibs elaborated, reaching for the bottle.   
  
“You went to New York?”  
  
“Aye.”  
  
“How’s he doing? He didn’t…. _you know_ … did he?”  
  
“Not since I’ve been here.”  
  
He heard Wendy sigh over the line. “What _happened_? He’s been doing so good for so long.”  
  
“Depressive episode. Lad stopped taking his meds… shite seemed to crumble following that,” Chibs offered.  
  
“ _Fuck_.”  
  
“That’s not what I called ye abou’, though.”  
  
“It’s not?” Wendy asked, warily.  
  
Chibs sighed. “His sponsor told me tae make a sweep of his apartment, make sure he didn’t have anythin’ salted away…” he trailed off, taking another sip of Scotch.  
  
“He didn’t…”  
  
“I found a shoebox with clean needles, a tourniquet, and a rusty spoon.”  
  
“His works…” Wendy breathed, clicking her tongue in disappointment.  
  
“I… I also found somethin’ else…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Found coke and heroin hidden in his office. A baggie of each… they were taped to the underside of one of his desk drawers,” Chibs continued, shaking his head. “Ye know what that means…”  
  
“Speedball. Guess that was his exit strategy if he ever wanted out,” Wendy retorted, following Chibs’ train of thought. “Jesus fucking Christ.”  
  
“Yeah…”  
  
“Where is he?” Wendy asked.  
  
“At a meeting. His friend Ben… he’s the one that called me… he took him. Should be bringin’ him home once it’s over.”  
  
“So Juice doesn’t know you-”  
  
“Haven’ seen him since I found this shite. That’s why I’m callin’ you… I’m a bit out of my league, here, lass.”  
  
“Fuck. Fuck.”  
  
“You’re not instilling much confidence in me, lass,” Chibs noted, frowning.   
  
“I should be there helping him. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me,” Wendy lamented, clicking her tongue.  
  
“This all transpired in the past forty-eight hours, love. Christ, I’ve only been here a day. I’ve got it handled.”  
  
“He’s in love with you, you know.”  
  
Chibs sighed. “That’s not why I’m here, lass. The lad’s in crisis. The last thing on my mind is his love life.”  
  
“Can you just give me a straight answer about something? Juice refuses to.”  
  
“About?”  
  
“You two. You guys… you were together… sort of. Right?”  
  
Chibs sighed, took a long swig of drink. “Never put any sort o’ label on it. But aye, we had… _something_.”  
  
“So what do I do, lass? I know his sponsor told me tae look, but he didnae tell me wha’ tae do if I found anythin’... Christ, I was _sure_ I wouldn’t turn up a damn thing,” Chibs noted, sighing miserably.  
  
“Have you talked to his sponsor?”  
  
“No,” Chibs retorted.   
  
“Get his number and give him a call.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Ask his friend. Ben, right? Ben’s in the program, seems pretty tight with Juice… I’m sure he has it.”  
  
Chibs nodded. “Alright… I’m gonna get on that I suppose. Ye think he’ll expect me tae confront him abou’ this?”  
  
_Silence_.  
  
“I don’t know… it varies from sponsor to sponsor. But you have to tell someone. It’d be one thing if you just found a rig… it’s not exactly uncommon for ex addicts to keep old paraphernalia lying around, _just in case_. But finding drugs hidden…” Wendy trailed off.  
  
“I s’pose I should get a move on with this, then. Dunnae when they’ll be back.”  
  
“Take care of our boy, Chibby.”  
  
“Aye lass, I will,” Chibs promised.  
  
“And keep me in the loop? Please? If you need me, I can be there.”  
  
“You’ve got the boys, lass-”  
  
“Nero can handle them. Please… if it gets to be too much to handle alone, tell me?”  
  
“Okay, lass.”  
  
“You promise?” she pressed.  
  
“I promise.”


End file.
